Cockles, Mussels and Lies
by artgalmd
Summary: A/R about Lante that will take place in Ireland. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

July 1990

Luke Spencer sat at a table strewn with discarded peanut shells, his hands reaching for the drought of whiskey that was placed before him. His curly blond hair was pulled into a ponytail and a cap rested atop it.

"It's been too quiet." he told Robert Scorpio, who sat opposite of him.

"I know. My source tells me he'll move any day now. We have to be ready."

"If we move too quickly, we'll spook him," Luke told his good friend and partner, "We should sit back and reassess. His brother's death was days ago. The wound is fresh."

Robert and Luke were both recruited by the World Service Bureau, several years ago, jet-setting around the world and chasing international spy rings that included drug cartels involved in human trafficking. Luke Spencer had settled down in the states, making Port Charles, New York his home, while his friend, Robert Scorpio continued to play the persona of the reckless playboy, leaving a trail of broken hearts at every Mediterranean port and carrying the air of James Bond, himself.

"We can't risk The Balkan slipping through our grasp. It took two years to infiltrate the organization and gain his trust. If he gets wind of any sign of-"

"You don't think that I don't know that, Luke? I'm just as invested in taking down this bastard as you are," Robert told him, leaning closer and whispering, "Everyone is in place. He doesn't know who ordered the hit on Liam. Everything is going according to plan. All that we are waiting on is a call with the time and location."

"It seems too easy," Luke said with apprehension.

The barmaid, set another whiskey in front of him, and he smiled back at her, waiting for her to greet another patron before continuing. "If we get too cocky, he'll know. The Balkan will slither back under that rock he came out of and we will never get this close to him again."

"You listen to me, Spencer. I am taking this prick down, do you hear me? I have no intention of letting him walk. I don't care what, or who I have to go through. I'm not stopping until he's behind bars or underground. Either way, Port Charles is a safer place."

"You know how Laura feels about my days with the WSB, Robert. I told her I gave that life up when we planted roots here. If she found out-"

"Who's going to tell her?" Robert answered, as Luke looked on with trepidation. He had a bad feeling about this. One that settled down deep in his gut, turning his stomach. The sooner they put this bastard under lock and key, the better.

He felt the vibration of his new phone in his pocket, the demo-type in secret use by the government, it was thin, and weightless, not anything like the portable phone that his neighbors had. He looked down at his watch, 8pm and smiled.

"Hi, Princess," Luke Spencer said, to his little girl.

"Daddy, when are you coming home?" she asked, her voice timid and shy.

"Soon, cupcake, soon. I promise. Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"Ssh, Mama thinks that I am sleeping, Daddy."

"Oh...and why aren't you?" Luke asked, laughing softly at his precocious five year-old.

"I tried, Daddy. Really, I did, but then I saw the monster. I tried to catch it and tell it to go away, like you said, Daddy. But, he's hiding now. I can't sleep, Daddy. He could be anywhere."

"Hush, princess. We'll catch him together," he told her, in a reassuring voice, proceeding to play the game that they did every night.

"Do you have your Yankees bat ready?" he asked, as Robert grinned from the other side of the table, downing the rest of his beer. The barmaid placed another in front of him, a huge smile spreading across her face, as she listened in on the conversation.

"I have one of my own back at the hotel, if you want to come and see?" he laughed, with an Australian accent, as the barmaid shot him a sarcastic look, "The three-year old in your pants? I'll pass, but thanks," she said snidely.

"If you need anything else, sir. Anything at all, just let me know," she smiled, grinning as Luke nodded that he didn't and she continued to sashay away from the table.

"Ok, are you ready, Princess?" Luke asked his daughter.

"Ready," she answered, as he pictured her standing in her bedroom, bat in hand, eager to jump into danger at a moment's notice. She was the spitting image of her mother, Laura, but had the Spencer genes rushing through her blood. In that way, she was just like her father, a magnet for perilous situations.

"Under the bed?"

"Check. Nope, not there, Daddy."

"Beneath the blankets?"

"Check. No, not their either, Daddy."

"That leaves only one place, pumpkin. The closet!" Luke Spencer told her, inflecting his voice with a note of excitement and danger, "But, tread carefully, Princess. We don't want to scare him off."

Luke Spencer could picture his daughter, with a mop of long, blond wavy hair creeping slowly toward the closet door. Her hazel eyes would be narrowed in concentration and her hands clutched tightly to the bat.

"I'm almost there, Daddy," she whispered, reaching for the doorknob. Slowly, she turned it clockwise, pulling it toward her. She heard footsteps behind her and turned, screaming at the person that stood there.

"Princess, what's wrong? Are you all right?" Luke asked in alarm.

"Daddy, Lucky scared me!" Lulu cried, sobbing into the phone, as her older brother, pushed his way into the room.

"Gimme that, you're supposed to be in bed! Mom said so!" Lucky Spencer told her, interrupting their game, as their dog, Foster, came bounding into the room.

"Cupcake, let me talk to your brother, will you?" Luke asked her, grinning at sounds of barking and his children's sibling rivalry.

"Do I have to, Daddy? We didn't even get to finish our game."

"We'll finish it tomorrow night."

"Do you promise?"

"Fingers and toes crossed," Luke answered.

"Don't forget to blow me a kiss, Daddy," Lulu replied, giggling.

"I just did," Luke told her, blowing a mock kiss, as Robert looked on and rolled his eyes.

"I caught it, Daddy. I did. I love you, Daddy," she said handing Lucky the phone.

"Hey, you little monster," Lucky replied, as Lulu punched him playfully in the stomach and then bolted from the room. "Don't forget, Daddy. Tomorrow night."

"I won't forget. I love you, too, Princess." Luke answered, as his son, Lucky got on the phone.

"Hey, Dad."

"Cowboy, how are you? School going all right."

"I hate school, Dad. I'd rather be off chasing bad guys with you. I don't understand how math is going to help me when I work for the bureau."

"I know, son. I hated school, too. But, your Mom is right on this one. You need a good education."

"You didn't finish school, Dad? And look at you, you're like a famous spy. I want to be just like you, Dad."

"No, you don't, son. This life, it's not meant for you or Lulu. I didn't know it then, but I am damned if I am going to let you follow in my footsteps. You study, get good grades. Be a doctor and make your Mom proud. Where is your Mother? Is she home?"

"A doctor, Dad? Really? Who's fooling who? If anything, I'll be a cop, because those guys on tv are cool. Mom's not home. Aunt Ruby is babysitting. She lets us get away with anything."

"As it should be, sport. I love you. Take care of your Mom, for me, will you, and look after your sister. Pinky swear?"

"Jeez, Dad. Pinky swear? We did that when I was a kid. Anyway, yeah, I promise, Dad. Love you, too.

"Sir?" the barmaid told Luke, walking toward him, "You have a phone call," she said, pointing to the pay phone on the wall.

"I have to go, son. Remember what I said. Bye," Luke told Lucky, disconnecting the call.

He walked toward the far end of the bar, the tables empty around him. He picked up the receiver and placed it against his ear, injecting a German accent to his voice "Heinrich, speaking."

"The package will arrive, tomorrow, 12midnight. Pier 52. Don't be late, Herr Biermann." the man answered, with an Irish brogue.

Luke Spencer placed the receiver back in its cradle and turned to face his partner, "Call the boys. It's on."

Several oceans away, a man sat behind his desk, drumming his fingers atop the aged wood and contemplating his next move. He had steely eyes that could read a man the moment he met you, a gift that came in handy in his business. "Is everything in place?"

"Yes, Sir," the young man replied, standing at attention in both respect and fear. The Balkan was an international crime lord, whose business spanned continents. His control was lucrative, but cross him and it became lethal.

"He won't know what hit him."

"Good. We do this for Liam," the Balkan said emphatically, as he reached for a manila file on his desk.

"With this act, his death will be avenged."

"Go, tell the others to prepare. We move on the morrow," the Balkan told the young man, dismissing him with a slight of his hand. He pulled the file closer to him, using his left hand to open it and scanned the documents before him. The first page was a narrative, date of birth, color of hair and eyes, but the second was a photograph of a wee lass. He traced his fingers across her angelic features, her eyes the color of an amber sunset, piercing his soul. Closing the file, he reminded himself, this was for his brother, and that in the end those who had inflicted the first cut would feel the most pain.

Laura Spencer used her finger to check off the items on her list, while Lucky stood alongside her, fighting over control of the cart.

"It's my turn," Lulu shouted, pulling the cart toward her.

"It was your turn five minutes ago, cupcake!" Lucky mocked, using both his hands to pull the grocery cart back towards him.

"Mommy, Lucky is making fun of Daddy's name for me!"

"Lucky, let her drive the cart!" Laura Spencer told him, in a scolding tone.

"Fine," Lucky replied, as he released the cart, spying his little sister grinning from ear to ear.

She pulled the cart toward her, sticking her tongue out at her older brother, as she pushed the monstrous vehicle forward slamming into anything in her way. Cans rolled across the aisle and boxes of pasta and rice lay like casualties of war.

"Vvrrmm!" she said, puckering her lips to make a noise like a car's engine, "Mommy, I'm going really fast, huh!"

"Very fast, baby. Why don't you slow down, before the grocery police are alerted," Laura told her, reaching for a jar of pasta sauce from the shelf.

"It's too late, Mommy. Do you hear the sirens? I can't let them catch me. I must not lose the King of Macaroni," she said, glancing at a box of macaroni shells and continuing on, "He has the princess locked in his tower. I must rescue her."

"Isn't that the job of the Prince?" Lucky told her, in a jeering tone, as Lulu just rolled her eyes at him.

"Fairytales are for sissy's, Lucky. I'm an inna natural spy, like Daddy!" Lulu answered, gleefully.

"That's international, dufus! And besides, it won't ever happen."

"Why not?" Lulu asked, stopping her cart mid-stride and looking back at her brother.

"Because GIRLS aren't allowed to be spies," Lucky told her, shaking his head.

"Mommy, is that so?" Lulu yelled to her mother who stood five feet away.

"What, baby?" Laura questioned, while scanning the ingredients listed on a can of Italian wedding soup.

"Lucky said that I can't be a spy."

"Well, that's not true, honey. You can be anything that you want," Laura told her walking toward her, and tossing the can of soup in the cart. She mussed Lulu's hair with her hands and kissed the top of her head, "After you finish school."

"I hate school," Lulu and Lucky exclaimed in unison.

Laura just smiled, wondering how she ever got so lucky. She pushed the cart toward the checkout lane and stood patiently in line. She had two wonderful children who she loved more than life and a husband who had proved his love and devotion by giving up his dream and settling with her in Port Charles. Life didn't get any better than this. She reviewed her list once more and noticed that she had forgotten the ground beef.

"Damn," she said, as she looked over at Lulu who had covered her ears, "Mommy, you said a bad word." she whispered.

"I think that God will forgive me just this once," Laura replied, smiling at her daughter.

"I forgot the hamburger," she told her son, Lucky who stood behind her in line.

"I can get it," he told her, as Lulu started to reach for the candy bars on the shelf, "Forget it, Lulu. They'll rot your teeth."

"Lucky, watch your sister. I shouldn't be more than five minutes."

"But, Mom. I ain't no babysitter." he answered, with a scowl.

"With language like that, you're not going to be much of anything. When we get home, you and I, are going to start cracking those books of yours. Studying is important, Lucky Spencer," she said, walking away.

"You heard, Mom. I'm in charge now," Lucky told Lulu, as a group of kids his age walked into the store.

"Hey, Lucky. What's happening?"

"Hey, Carter. Not much. What brings you guys here?" he said, bashfully, eyeballing the brown-haired girl named Emily that stood near the door.

"Lucky?" Lulu said, tugging on his shirt, "Can't you see I'm talking, Lulu!" he said, moving toward his friends.

In the next aisle she could see the perfect shield for blocking monsters. It was was made of tinfoil and when decorated would be truly frightful to the monster in her room.

"Lucky? I want to go see-"

"Then go, Lulu. Jeez, I'm too old to babysit," he said, turning his back on her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her head toward the aisle, directly behind them.

Lulu Spencer stood next to the aisle with kitchen utensils, oggling a large foil pan, her mind imagining all sorts of battles against the monster in her room.

"Stay where I can see you, Lulu!" Lucky ordered, turning his back on her and grabbing an item from the cart.

"Can I help?" Emily asked, picking up items from the cart and placing them on the conveyor.

"Sure," Lucky answered, as his mother walked up behind them. She placed the ground beef on the counter, reaching for more items, as her eyes scanned the area.

"Where's your sister?"

"She's behind us, kitchen aisle" Lucky answered, his eyes looking behind him for Lulu, "She was just there. She's probably just playing another game. Lulu, come on, Mom's waiting."

"Lucky, you were supposed to watch her," Laura replied, becoming frantic, "Lulu," she shouted, running up and down the aisles.

"Lulu," Lucky hollered, receiving no answer.

"She couldn't have gotten far, Mrs. Spencer. She was here just a second ago," Emily told her, trying to reassure Lucky's mother.

Laura Spencer stopped every patron within earshot, "Have you seen a little girl with blond hair? Her name's Lulu." But, everyone shook their head, they hadn't seen her.

"Please, someone has to have seen her. You can't miss her," Laura sobbed, spinning in every direction, searching for any sign of her daughter, "Lulu! Lulu!" she yelled, collapsing to her knees.

"Mom, I'm sorry. This is my fault. I should have been watching her," Lucky cried, dropping to his knees and trying to comfort his mother.

"My baby, I want my baby!" Laura shouted, hysterically, as grocer clerks and the manager raced toward her.

All around them was caos, people searching for her daughter. She could hear the sirens in the distance, the sounds growing louder, as they came near. Then, their were men in uniforms, reaching for her, as the horror of her situation hit her. The officers lips moved, but she couldn't hear the words that passed their mouths.

Her baby was gone.

Vanished in an instant.

In the aisle behind her, a detective reached down with gloved hands and picked up a piece of paper.

"What is it?" another officer asked, as Laura Spencer looked down at the celtic cross staring back at her. Son of a bitch. He lied, Laura thought.

"Who the hell is the Balkan?" the detective asked his partner.

"I want my husband. Get me Luke Spencer. You tell him...you tell him she's gone. Our baby's gone."

Lucky wrapped his arms around his mother's waist, clinging tightly, as they both cried, her body shaking with grief.

Inside his chest he felt a great weight take hold, wrapping its tentacles around every muscle in his body. A grief so profound filled his chest, locking itself inside, where it would stay for years to come.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/R Lante: Lulu has been raised in Ireland and was renamed Ciara Niamh Kelly.**

**The Funeral**

Lucky Spencer sometimes imagined what his funeral would be like and who would attend. Would it be those who stood by his side, through thick and thin, extending their condolences for the loss of a great friend, or those who merely pretended, using his death to benefit from the dollar bills he left behind. These thoughts ping-ponged back and forth in his head, his eyes lined with fatigue and his face covered in stubble. He should feel something, shouldn't he? Some tiniest bit of regret for the loss of his life. He hadn't seen him in years. Not since the breakdown. Looking around the empty funeral parlor, it appeared that no one else had either. The closed casket rested before him, a bouquet of lilies placed atop it. But, no one paid homage to the man inside. Not one body to celebrate his life, or extoll upon his character. Just a nearly empty parlor. That emptiness, much like the hole that had implanted itself inside his heart all those years ago; the guilt that had seeded, the roots twisting his insides and refusing to release him.

"Hey, how are you doing?" Dante Falconeri asked, sitting down in a chair, beside his partner. His concerned eyes took in Lucky's bedraggled appearance, his unshaven face and his sunken eyes.

They had been partners for nearly two years now, ever since Dante had transferred from the NYPD to the PCPD to take down Sonny Corrinthos, and in all that time, Dante had never seen Lucky Spencer under distress like this.

"I feel numb," Lucky answered truthfully, turning to Detective Dante Falconeri, with emotionless eyes, "Shouldn't I feel sad that he's gone? He was my Dad, what kind of son does that make me?"

"I just found out that the man I have hated all my life is my father, Lucky. I'm the last person you should ask about what you should or shouldn't feel. But, if it helps, just know that there is no right way to grieve, Lucky. You just need time."

"Time," Lucky laughed, his emotions beginning to push to the surface, "That's all I've had for twenty years. Did you know that this isn't the first family member that I've buried?" Lucky told Dante, turning to his partner, with eyes brimming with tears.

"I know that your mother is in Shadybrooke? Has something changed, did she take a turn for the worse?"

"No, not my mother. Although, she may as well have been dead all these years. Did I tell you that I saw her yesterday? She was sitting in that damn rocking chair, staring straight through me. She didn't even know I was there."

"But, I thought that you said she has been in a catatonic state for years?"

"She has. I just thought that...maybe...maybe yesterday would be different," Lucky said, wanting to lift the burden from his chest.

"I don't understand. Why yesterday?" Dante asked, desperately hoping to erase the anguish that he saw in his friend's eyes.

"Did I ever tell you-"

"I don't mean to interrupt," the man with an accent said, standing directly behind them, "but are you Lucky Spencer, Luke's son?"

"Depends on who's asking. Who are you?" Lucky questioned in suspicion. The man looked familiar, his Australian accent poking at some deep recess in Lucky's mind.

"That's good. You have your father's instincts. You'll need those in the weeks to come. I used to work with your father. Robert Scorpio," he said reaching his hand to Lucky's in greeting. Luke's son didn't extend the invitation, his hand remaining motionless at his side.

"I have something for you. Something from your father," Robert informed him, holding out a file in front of him.

"My father? That's a joke," Lucky told Robert, pushing the file out of his face, "Luke Spencer was never my father."

Dante Falconeri sat quietly, watching the body language of both men and assessing the situation, using his skills learned while undercover. The man with the accent was reading him too, this Dante knew, as he watched Robert Scorpio's eyes shift between them, gauging every movement they made.

"You said you worked with Detective Spencer's father?" Dante asked, keeping his eyes focused on Robert Scorpio's reaction to his question, curious as to the contents of that folder.

"I did, long before Lucky was born." Robert answered him, with skepticism, clearly aware of Dante's tactics, "You're testing me, aren't you, Detective Falconeri?"

"How do you know my-"

"I make a point of knowing everything and everyone in Lucky's life. Luke Spencer was a good friend. I promised to look after his family. You on the other hand, Detective, intrigue me. Why would the son of a well-known mobster, choose to become everything that his father hates? Your file says that you grew up in Bensonhurst. That's not an easy life. Not the life your father could have given you."

"I never knew my father. But, you would know that wouldn't you, Mr. Scorpio, if you had read my file."

"Please, call me Robert. I met Sonny Corrinthos a long time ago, back when I worked on missions with Lucky's father. He's a good man."

"He's a criminal," Dante answered, stating a fact, "What missions?"

"Didn't I mention? I thought I did. My father was an agent for the WSB, a government agency that worked with Interpol to take down international regimes. It's probably the reason Luke Spencer is dead. I know it's the reason my mother has sat motionless for nearly twenty years," Lucky answered, in an accusing tone, directed at Robert Scorpio.

"Your father had no way of knowing, Lucky. None of us did. You don't understand what it was like then, the power that man held, the people that he controlled," Robert told Lucky, trying to make him understand.

"I don't understand! He should have known. My father should have seen it coming," Lucky shouted, rising to stand in front of Robert.

"He destroyed my mother that day. She was never the same. I tried everything to make it better. Nothing I did, helped. I couldn't give her what she wanted, because I helped him take her away."

"And you don't think that he hasn't paid for the events that day. Well, he bloody has! For twenty years he searched, under every rock. That first year, he nearly had her too. The trail ended in Galway. Then, she just disappeared, like she didn't exist at all."

"She? Lucky, what's going on? Is this why your mother is in Shadybrooke? Because of something that your father did?"

"Not my father, Dante. Me."

"It wasn't your fault, Lucky. If they hadn't taken her then, there would have been another time, another bloody place. He wouldn't have stopped until he got his revenge."

"Lucky?" Dante asked, as Robert Scorpio handed the file over.

"He'll need your help, so you might as well get yourself acquainted with the materials. You don't have much time, so I suggest that you get your travel itinerary in order."

"Travel?" Dante questioned, opening the file in his hands. Inside was a photograph of a small child with wavy blond hair and a cherub-like face. The file said that she was five years of age with hazel eyes. It was those eyes that drew him in, something in them burrowing deep inside him and holding on tight.

"She's beautiful. Who is she?" Dante asked, as he flipped to the next page, a list of possible sightings, aliases, contacts and locations.

"My sister," Lucky answered, taking a deep breath when he glimpsed the image of the sibling that he hadn't seen in nearly two decades.

"Sister? But, you never mentioned-"

"She was kidnapped when I was thirteen years old. Snatched from a grocery store here in Port Charles, while my mother was shopping."

""But why-"

"Retaliation. One of my father's enemies, called The Balkan. He took her. My father looked for her for months, but we never found her. My mother never spoke another word. No emotion. Nothing. No matter how many hospitals he took her to, or how hard my father tried, he couldn't reach her. They said that she'd suffered a mental breakdown. Eventually, the doctors convinced him that the best thing for her was Shadybrooke. So, that's where she has been ever since.

"And your sister? After all this time, there hasn't been a single sighting?' Dante questioned, flipping another page and staring mesmerized at the photograph before him. She made his heart stop and his breath quicken.

"Is that her?" Lucky asked Robert, spying the glossy photograph inside the file. It was a picture of a woman in her mid-twenties, about 5'6 or 5'7. She had long, golden tresses that fell in waves around her face, with beautiful eyes the color of amber.

"That's the last photograph taken, before your father's accident," Robert told them, "She goes by Ciara Niamh Kelly and makes her home in Ireland."

"Ciara? Why does that name sound familiar?" Dante asked.

"She was last seen promoting a fundraiser for the organization that she supports, ASEC."

"The Alliance to Save Exploited Children? I've heard of that. Now, I know why her name sounds so familiar. ASEC is making great strides in lowering the number of children that are being victimized in the world. I worked on a few of those cases, while at the NYPD," Dante answered, impressed that this woman aligned herself with such an organization.

"She is their spokesperson, helping to bring awareness to nation's about child exploitation and human trafficking in Ireland and neighboring countries throughout Europe. She has succeeded in stopping many of his bloody attempts in Ireland alone, making it her mission to protect the children," Robert told Dante.

"And no doubt pissing off The Balkan," Dante answered, intrigued by the image of the woman who on the surface seemed superficial, her features not model-like, but stunningly beautiful all the same, while beneath the surface lay a woman of daring, perhaps even stupidity for her rashness.

"According to the WSB and Interpol, she has received many death threats, but always dismisses them. She refuses any kind of protection and wants no guards to shadow her."

"How did my father find her?" Lucky interjected, suddenly finding his voice amidst a stream of tears.

"It was merely by accident. One of our agents was in Europe, trailing what they thought was a drug trafficker, when they came across a warehouse locker. Believing, it was a drug shipment, they opened the locker, expecting to find large amounts of heroin, or cocaine, but turns out it was a holding cell. It was filled with young children of all nationalities. Out of nowhere this woman appeared, claiming the children were victims of human trafficking and before we knew it both the children and she were gone, long before the ink on our paperwork had even dried."

"I don't get it, if my father knew her name and where she lives, why didn't he say anything. Why didn't he go after her?" Lucky questioned, wondering why he was just now learning about her whereabouts.

"We have a name and a birthplace, Lucky. But, she never stays in one place. She is constantly moving, never lingering longer than a day or two," Robert answered, as Dante handed the file to Lucky.

"Who can blame her? She's a marked woman. Stay long enough in one village and she risks this Balkan finding her." Dante stated, amazed at her bravery.

"Why doesn't Interpol, or the WSB, get involved. They could put some kind of protection in place. Keep him away," Lucky told Robert Scorpio.

"And risk revealing her true identity. Not in this bloody lifetime. The fact that she is still alive and that he allows her to do what she does without very little repercussions, tells us that she serves a purpose for him. That he still has an endgame in place. If we show our cards all at once, she's as good as dead," Robert said.

"So, that's it then. We go to Ireland," Lucky answered, looking at Dante, "If I have to protect my sister myself, I will."

"Lucky, you can't reveal who you are. She mustn't know. It would be too dangerous. I promised your father," Robert ordered.

"I don't care what you promised, Luke Spencer. She's my sister. With, or without your help," Lucky said, including both of them in his glance, "I'm going to Ireland."

"Count me in. We're practically brothers, Lucky. Have been since the day Lt. Poletti found you in that old boxcar. That makes your sister my family, too," Dante replied, as Lucky managed a weak smile, his worry evident on his face.

"I'll meet you at the airport, one hour?" Lucky told Dante, "We can use Jax's private jet," he said, reaching for his cell phone and dialing Jax's number.

"Hold up, I'm all for traveling first-class, but don't you think that we should consider arriving under the radar. Landing in a Leer jet isn't exactly the message that we want to send to anyone that we meet."

"I have a better idea," Robert told them, "one that will get you there quickly and not raise any alarms. Let me make a phone call," Robert told them, reaching for his cell phone. In his opposite hand he clutched another thick file of paperwork and as he waited for the call to connect, he turned to Dante Falconeri.

"Here, you'll need these," Robert said, handing him an additional folder, "Everything that you would possibly need to know about the Balkan."

"It's Scorpio. How quickly can you get me a lift to Galway? Passengers? Two."

…...

"How long have they sitting there?" she asked, her voice soft with an Irish lilt. She held a stout of Guiness in her hand, the dark lager, a welcome distraction to the strangers that had intruded upon her village pub. Her mass of blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, a tweed cap adorning her head.

"Long enough, to be asking too many questions, lass," Daniel told her, his eyes never leaving the two men.

"Questions? What is this, Ciara?" Shane demanded, pointing at the men and wanting to know what the fuss was all about. Daniel placed a stout in front of him, the oatmeal content, skimming the top.

"Those lads over there, Shane? They be wanting trouble, I think," Daniel answered, as Ciara looked at both men with a look of disfavor.

"Now, lads, neither of you will be defending me honor," Ciara told them, grinning mischievously, as she drifted back into her familiar accent. She raised her eyebrows, shaking her head with mirth, "I can take care of meself, you just see if I can't."

"That I have no doubt of, lass. A firebrand you are, true. They'll never see you coming. But, they are foreigners, and by the look of them, Yanks, lass," Shane told her, his steely gaze still locked on the men.

Ciara Niamh Kelly lifted the wooden hatch, ducking under to the other side. Reaching behind her, she grabbed two lagers and headed toward the table where the men sat. If they were here to cause trouble, as Daniel thought, she would put a stop to it at once. Slamming the beers onto the table, the thick liquid sloshing out of the mugs, she waited for the men to turn in her direction. The lean, blond turned first, his eyes widening as his gaze fell upon her, eyes welling with tears as his hand reached for hers. She pulled it back quickly, startled by his overture. That was when the other dark-haired one caught her eye, his chocolate-brown eyes the color of a good, stout beer, trapping her in his sight. He unnerved her, the feeling unsettling and she suddenly found herself afraid. Ciara didn't like that emotion, her eyes betraying her hatred for the man who was seated before her, "Are you here for Daniel's famous Irish Stew?" she asked, inflecting a wee bit more of her Irish dialect into her voice for effect.

"Irish Stew? That sounds great, "Lucky answered, practically on reflex. His eyes were having a hard time translating to his brain what he was seeing. She was nearly a replica of his mother, her hair, her features, the way that she tilted her head and moved her hands. He wanted so much to shout her name, to pull her into his arms and let go the sobs that threatened to break through the surface, ecstatic at her appearance.

"And you? What might I do for you, lad?" Ciara suggested, in a mocking tone, her eyes revealing her dislike.

"Well, you can start by dropping that phony accent that you are trying so desperately to press upon us. After that, you can bring me a beer that doesn't require a fork. I prefer to drink my ale, not eat it," Dante ordered, smiling as he watched her expression turn from dislike to pure hatred. She was breathtaking, the way that her eyes reflected her emotions, the sparks so intense they could set the pub afire.

"You be needing any help, lass?" Daniel shouted from the bar, his frown causing a crease to form upon his brow.

"No, I got this, Daniel," she whispered in a soft, aggravated voice, pushing the stout lager toward him. "This isn't some club that you walked into on Avenue B, Yank. This pub has been here longer than those dimples on your face."

"You noticed my dimples?" Dante smiled, as Lucky looked on scowling, leaning over to whisper, "Dante, just drink the beer."

"What's your name?" Dante asked, not once moving his gaze from hers, as her eyes sparkled with humor.

"Your in my country, I'll ask the questions. Who are you?" Ciara asked, completely intrigued by his cocky manner.

"Dante Falconeri, protector of damsels in distress, avid fan of ferris wheels that get stuck at the top, and seeker of moonlit sandy beaches that stretch for miles."

"Lucky me," Ciara replied, grinning, "I'm not a damsel in distress, I can take care of myself. And ferris wheels? I was on one once, made me sick to my stomach-"

"Well, that's just because you didn't have the right company," Dante smiled, enjoying their banter. She really was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen.

"Your name?" Dante asked again, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it from her lips, "Why?" she asked, curious as to how learning her name would change anything.

"I think that I should know the name of the woman who has stolen my heart, before I am locked behind bars."

"You locked behind bars? Why not me, if I have stolen your heart?" she questioned, a soft giggle escaping her mouth.

"Because of this," Dante said, suddenly reaching for her arm and pulling her mouth toward his. She gasped as his lips barely touched hers, passing over her soft skin and causing her pulse to quicken and goosebumps to erupt upon her arms.

"I've been waiting a lifetime to do that ever since I saw you standing behind that bar, " Dante admitted, after pulling his lips from hers. For a few seconds, her eyes remained closed, her lips parted and he inhaled sharply, his eyes so completely focused on her lips, that all others faded from the room.

Daniel and Shane came rushing over to the table and Ciara held them off with a flick of her wrist.

"Does that line work every time?" Ciara whispered, leaning closer, as she waited for his answer and Lucky sat at the opposite side of the table, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I have been told that I have the cheesiest pick up lines. Tell them to be gentle on me, would you?" Dante begged, grinning at the steam he saw filling her eyes and the murderous intent on the faces of Shane and Daniel.

"Their not who you should worry about," Ciara told him, pulling her hand back and slapping him upon his cheek, wiping the grin from his face and knocking him from his stool.

Wow, she could pack quite a wallop, Dante thought, rubbing his cheek, while another grin spread across his face.

"Who do you work for, Yank? Tell me, or so help me God, I'll slap the other side," Ciara demanded, as Lucky interrupted, scowling down at Dante.

"ASEC, sent us, as protection." Lucky replied, shooting daggers at Dante.

"You two, are going to protect me? From whom, The Balkan?" Ciara laughed, reaching out her hand to pull Dante to his feet, "He'll see you coming a mile away. I don't need some knight in shining armor."

"No, Princess?" Dante mocked, as Ciara looked at him in puzzlement, "What did you just call me?" a flash of memory nudging at the back of her mind, fleeting, then gone.

"You don't need protection? What's that?" Dante said, pulling her arm toward him and revealing the faded scar that marked the skin of her left arm, "It looks like a gunshot wound to me."

"The bullet just grazed me. Nothing serious. Just a mistake," Ciara whispered, finding it hard to concentrate with his hand touching her everywhere, his body so close to hers.

"And this?" he continued, as Lucky now released a sharp breath behind him, while Dante tilted her chin upwards, revealing a thin scar that traced a line directly at the top of her neck, directly below her chin.

"I found myself a little too close to the wrong end of a blade. Nothing but a misunderstanding," she said, breathlessly, her hand shaking beside her.

"You seem to have a lot of those, misunderstandings," Dante answered, taking her hand in his and absentmindedly stroking the top of her hand with his thumb.

"What makes you think that I'll allow you to protect me?" Ciara asked, suddenly worried that she might be taking a liking to this Yank.

"What makes you think you can stop me, Ciara?" Dante answered, a determined expression marking his face.

Lucky, Daniel and Shane each watched the exchange before them, thoughts swimming in their heads and eyes narrowed in concern. One pair was mapping out ground rules in his head and lines not to be crossed.

Still another pair was fuming with jealousy, planning ways to thwart the Yank's attentions on his lass, and chase him out of the village.

But, the final pair looked on with an intelligent, skeptical gleam to his eyes, watching for any sign of memory, any hint of recognition.

He prayed that it went unnoticed, that all remained a secret. The sooner the Yanks left Ireland, the farther away from the truth the lass would be and the safer all would remain in the long-run.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

"In Dublin's Fair City"

"How do you know my name?" Ciara asked, in an authoritative tone, pulling her hand out from under Dante's, clearly nettled by his gesture. Her hazel eyes reflected the flames from the nearby hearth, the specks of light incinerating.

"Just ignore him, Lu-"

"I told you, ASEC hired us to keep you safe."

"Hm...so you say, Yank," Ciara replied, not sure if she believed him. There was something about him, something that rankled her nerves and caused her blood to boil. She didn't like anyone trying to control her movements, especially some Yank.

"So, what you own this heap?" Dante asked her with a grin, using his hand to gesture at the entirety of the room, "I don't see it. What part of this place is you?" Dante asked.

"Did the laddie just call O'Riley's a heap?" Shane muttered to Daniel, whose gaze hadn't left Dante's face, "That he did. Fecking Yank!"

"Fecking Yank is right," Shane replied, glaring at Dante.

"I'll have you know, this _heap, _is one of the finest pubs in Ireland," Daniel told Dante, truly offended on behalf of all of the locals.

"Eirinn go Brach!" the lads said in unison.

"Ireland forever, is true. You spout a lot of nonsense, you do, Yank. Talking like you know me. You don't. Every part of me is in these walls. My blood, sweat and tears. This is my home. Ireland is my home?" Ciara answered, looking at Lucky Spencer, "Has he always been like this? Thick-headed and cocksure?"

"Yes, he has." Lucky answered, truthfully, still stunned by her presence.

"Hm. I suppose you'll be needing a place to lay your head," Ciara told them, as she directed her gaze at Dante, "Murphy has a few beds to spare, just up the hill."

"You don't have any rooms here?" Dante asked, looking toward the bar and at the sign on the wall behind it declaring a need for occupancy.

"Not a one," Ciara told him, grinning, "But, you can bunk with the livestock if you wish. Although, I can't say that they'll like your company much. A bit pushy you are, Yank."

"But, you like me. I appreciate your concern over where I'll sleep, but I won't need a room."

"No. And pray tell, Yank, why is that? Where is it that you think to be sleeping this night?" Ciara questioned, with distrust.

"ASEC paid me to protect you, Ciara. Not for a few minutes, or a few hours. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I'll be right by your side.

"But, if I'm going to protect you from him, we'll need to set some ground rules," Dante told her, as Ciara sent a scathing look back at him.

"I don't remember agreeing, Yank. My face may represent ASEC, but that does not mean that I have to listen to their every request. So, you might as well be packing your bags and leaving. I'll not need protecting. Not since me Da held me on his knee when I was a wee lass. You'll not be looking after me."

"Oh, it wasn't a request, Ciara," Dante answered, moving to stand next to her, nose-to-nose, his eyes clearly stating that he had no intention of going anywhere, "Like it, or not, we're staying."

"Do you have any idea who you are up against?" Dante questioned, "What kind of Da would put you in that kind of danger?"

"Hold on there, laddie. I'll not be letting you dishonor Ciara's Da! He was a good man, that one."

"Saemus Kelly was a just man. He was the local constable," Shane replied.

"Your father was a cop?" Dante asked Ciara, his interest peaked.

"Bloody damn great one, he was."

"Yes, my Da was a law-abiding one. My Mammy just as good. What's it to you, Yank?" Ciara answered Dante, defensively.

"Hey, I didn't mean to offend you. I have the greatest respect for the law. Just surprised? You don't seem to like the law very much, Ciara."

"What has the law ever done for my family? My Da gunned down before my eyes when I stood barely half his height. My Mammy nearly dying of a broken heart. If I decide to chase those that are too cowardly to stand and face me man to man, who are you to have an opinion? I may choose to walk on the edge of a cliff, teetering over the side and tempting death, but its my own right, and I'll not be discussing my Da with you, Yank. God rest his soul."

"I can't imagine what that child must have felt, losing a parent at such a young age," Dante told her, mere inches separating them, "Does it keep you up at night?"

"If'n it does, or don't, what business is it of yours?" she said, putting some distance between them, "None, I tell you. I'll be going to the toilet now, so unless you plan on following me, Yank. Seat your arse on a stool."

Dante watched her walk toward the restroom, her body language revealing her agitation. She was the most ballsy, pain-in-the-ass, fly by-the-seat of her pants gal that he had ever met. Everything about her stole the breath from his lungs and stopped the heart in his chest. And boy could she spar. It had been a long time since anyone had met his cocky stare with a look of their own and thrown his attitude right back at him, triple-fold.

"She's my sister, remember?" Lucky said from a seated position at a nearby table, keeping his voice lowered.

"She's hot. And feisty. I like that in a woman," Dante answered, grinning at the expression of displeasure that Lucky had plastered upon his face, "Don't worry, Lucky. I haven't forgotten why we are here. "

"Just don't forget that her name isn't Ciara. It's Lulu," Lucky whispered to his partner, leaning closer, "She's not some girl you picked up at Jake's."

"When have you ever seen me pick up a girl at Jake's, Lucky? I'm a gentleman. And besides, you need me."

"Gentleman? Don't make me laugh! Emily, remember?"

"She was just using me to make Nickolas jealous. Nothing happened."

"Tell that to Nickolas, Dante. You walk in a room and girls get all puppy-eyed at you. _Hey, the name's Detective Falconeri. I seem to have lost my number. Can I have yours? _It's truly nauseating."

"I have never used that line. That one is older than the PCPD's unsolved case files. I have class, thank you very much. And you want to talk about pick-up lines. At least I use them. All you do is turn on the water-works and girls are practically swooning. _Excuse me, Detective. I just wanted to say how refreshing it is to see a man who doesn't hide his feelings. Can I offer you a tissue, wipe your tears?_ You're so damn emotional. Too emotional, Lucky. You need me."

"Me, need you? Why?" Lucky asked, curious as to his reasoning.

"You're too damn close on this one, Lucky. She's family. I've worked undercover before. I know how to stay detached," Dante assured him.

"This is my sister, Dante. If anything-"

"That's not going to happen, Lucky. Let me handle this,"

"Lulu doesn't need HANDLED, Dante!" Lucky said, raising his voice, as a shadow appeared behind Dante.

"A wee lass that can't stand the sight of you, Yank?" Ciara told him, as he turned to her, all seriousness on his face, "I think that I would like to meet this Lulu of yours," Ciara smiled, looking at Dante..

"Yeah, I think that you would really like her," Lucky answered, feeling a tug on his heart, "She's a lot like you."

"I'm waiting," Dante told her, his stubborn eyes meeting her challenging gaze.

"You'll be waiting ages, Yank. I'll not be sharing my pub, my room, or anything else with you," she answered, her voice laced with ire.

"I'm not leaving."

"Suit yourself, Yank. You can sleep on the fecking bar if you like. I got a pub to run," Ciara told him, walking away to greet someone at the door.

"Ciara, what's got you in a tizzy?" a red-haired lass with eyes of the greenest moss said, taking off her coat and hanging it on a hook. Her fiery locks, thick and curly, draped upon her backside, and Lucky looked on, ensnared by her looks.

"Who is that?" Lucky asked, while Dante's eyes remained focused on Ciara, as she embraced the girl and led her toward the far end of the bar. They huddled close together, whispering and Dante grinned when he heard his name in the conversation.

"It took you ages, Siobhan. What were you waiting for my one foot in the grave?" Ciara told her, a bit disagreeable.

"I came as quickly as I could, Ciara. My Danny does not like it when I desert him," she replied, looking at Ciara with a questioning look, "Now what was so important that has you calling me away from my Danny and has you mad as a bag of ferrets."

"Him!" Ciara answered, directing Siobhan with her eyes to the table across the room where two men sat.

"The blond one with the sad eyes?" Siobhan answered, her eyes roaming over the stubble that lined his face. He was rather handsome that one.

"Not that one, Siobhan! The bloody Yank across from him," Ciara replied, aggravated.

"The one that is staring at you, like you are a stout of Guinness and he is parched?" Siobhan replied, grinning, "He has eyes that burn with fire, Ciara."

"I hadn't noticed," Ciara answered, becoming weak-kneed, as his gaze locked on hers, trapping her and creating sensations in her that were unsettling.

"And his body? I could think of a lot worse things then getting at it with that?" Siobhan replied, giggling, as Ciara blushed by her side, "What brings the Yank to Ireland?"

"ASEC. The Yank says that he is to watch me day and night. My fecking shadow, he says."

"Jaysus, Ciara. What have ye done now?"

"Me? Why ye always assuming it's me?" Ciara asked, truly offended.

* * *

"So, exactly how do you plan on protecting Lulu?" Lucky asked Dante, who continued to watch her from across the room.

"Well, for starters, there are eyes and ears everywhere, you shouldn't refer to by her given name. He'll realize that we are on to him soon enough. I'd rather it were later."

"You're afraid we'll tip him off," Lucky responded, as Dante's eyes revealed his concern.

"I'd be surprised if he didn't know we were here already. It's her that I'm worried about."

Dante watched the girls in conversation at the table, his eyes shifting to the drifter that sat across the bar, completely soused. The red-headed Daniel was in a heated debate with the patron and the drifter was becoming agitated.

"Ye'll not be getting another drought, O'Shaugnessy. Ye hear me. I doona care how ur Da saved me Da's arse ages ago. Ifn ye have no quid, ye naught gettin a jar."

"But, Daniel, I have a throat on me!" the drunkard answered, standing up and slamming his fist on the bar.

"Is there a problem here?" Dante asked, rising from his seat at the table and addressing Daniel.

"Do ye mind, Yank?" the soused one replied, his breath reeking of alcohol, as he looked Dante over with distaste, "This be none of ye business. Tis a family matter."

"I dinna ask for ur help, Yank," Daniel answered, Dante, "now, ifn ye be needing another jar? I might be able to help ye."

"Maybe I can call someone for you. A taxi?" Dante told the man, "O'Shaugnassey, was it?"

"Who the feck do ye think ye are? Piss off, Yank! I'll be seeing me own way out!" he said, staggering toward the door.

"A word of advice, laddie. Dinna be including urself where ye doona belong. Ireland is beautiful, but deadly too. Ifn ye get me meaning."

"Daniel!" Ciara said sharply, sending him a look, "mind ye manners that ur mammy taught ye."

"He doona belong here, Ciara. He will bring nothing but trouble. Ye want me advice, lassie, " Daniel said, pointing at Dante, "tell him to piss off. The locals doona like Yanks in Ireland."

"Ifn I want to send him packing, Daniel. That is me own decision."

"It is for ye Da that I tell ye this, lass. Seamus, god rest his soul, would naught be liking his kind. But, ye were never much for listening, foolish lass. Do what ye may, but doona say that I dinna warn ye," he said, throwing his towel on the bar and walking away.

"Your more trouble than your worth, Yank," Ciara told him, smiling, as she walked toward the door, "Are you coming? If'n we make it to Murphy's before nightfall, you might just get an Irish Stew in your belly before ye bunk down for the night."

"Murphy's?" Dante questioned, looking toward the stairs and thinking the rooms upstairs would suffice.

"You'll naught be bunkin here, Yank. There is no foolery when I say we have no rooms. We are renovating and they are not ready."

"Where are you sleeping?" Dante asked, not budging an inch. He was not going to let her out of his sight.

"I have a room at Murphy's," Ciara answered, walking out the door, as Dante and Lucky followed, "with Siobhan."

"What the feck are ye talking 'bout, Ciara." Siobhan whispered under her breath, thinking that her best mate since childhood, had lost her feckin marbles. Flatmates? They hadn't shared a room since they were wee lasses and she had Danny now.

"And if'n I'm to share a room with ye, Ciara, where is Danny to sleep?" Siobhan questioned, a note of irritation in her voice.

"Danny?" Lucky asked, standing alongside the red-haired lass.

"I don't remember inviting ye into this conversation, laddie?" Siobhan answered.

"Jaysus, Siobhan, tis just for tonight," Ciara whispered, her eyes darting to Dante, "I doona trust that one. Ye can sneak out after-"

"What 'bout my Danny?"

"Mrs. O'Riley will keep him a few minutes more. Please, Siobhan I am begging ye. He has me a bit flummoxed."

"Ye better start trusting, Ciara. Ifn what he says is true, that Balkan will be comin and I doona want to see ye hurt."

"I can take care of meself, Siobhan. I've stayed ahead of him for ages. Ye know that better than anyone," Ciara replied.

"Maybe, but now ye doona have to, Ciara. Listen to what the Yank tells ye, the Balkan is not to be played with. He is dangerous, Ciara."

"Doona be dense, Siobhan. I am naught afeared of the Balkan. He is a coward. Hides behind his nickers, he does."

"This," Siobhan said, pointing to the scar on her shoulder, "and this," she said, pointing to the long, thin scar that marked underneath her chin, "doona say he is hiding, Ciara. Any closer and ye be in the grave."

"I doona think he wants to harm me, Siobhan. He is like a wee laddie playing with a wooden toy," Ciara told Siobhan, as Dante approached.

"Until he no longer wants to play, Ciara and he decides to break it. What then?"

"Is everything all right?" Dante asked, noting the tension in the air.

"It will be. As soon as you plant your arse back on a plane and piss off," Ciara told him, storming ahead a few paces.

"She likes you," Siobhan answered, grinning.

"You think so. I was betting on sleeping with my gun," Dante replied, with a grin of his own.

"Watch ur back, Yank. There are locals here that doona take kindly to outsiders. They would sooner plant a knife in ur back, then tell ye to ur face."

"I'll keep that in mind," Dante answered, moving more briskly, until his pace matched Ciara's.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

"Sweet Molly Malone"

"I doona know who he is. If'n ur wantin him watched, why doona you say so in the first place. Consider it done," Daniel answered the caller, disconnecting the phone and turning to Shane.

"You 'erd him. Best be movin, laddie. Time's awastin and Ciara be needin ur help," Daniel replied, as Shane reached for his cell phone and dialed.

"If'n I show up at Murphy's, she willna be pleased. But, she will listen to Kiernan," Shane told Daniel, as he waited for Kiernan to answer.

"Kiernan. If'n you ain't 'erd, Ciara's in trouble. A feckin Yank he is. No, I doona know his name. At Murphy's. Right-O," Shane replied, hanging up.

He looked over at Daniel, who passed a pint of lager, "He's goin now. The Yank willna know what hit him."

"I doona like it. Not a bit, Shane. What does the Yank want with Ciara?

"Nothin good, I think," Shane replied, tilting his head and draining the pint.

"Kiernan will get to the bottom of it," Daniel told Shane, smiling as he imagined the Yank's reaction.

* * *

Ciara sauntered into Murphy's like she owned the pub, heading straight for the bar and stepping behind it. Behind her was a large mirror its edges covered with police patches from all over the world, as well as several Irish crests. The counter was lined with bottles of hard liquor and empty bottles sporting the lagers available.

"What's your damage?" Ciara asked him, placing a bottle of fine Irish Whiskey on the bar, pouring a shot and then downing it in one gulp.

"Beer?" Dante asked her, shrugging his shoulders, as she raised her eyebrow at him.

"Beer is for the wee laddies. You might as well place a sign on your chest that be saying Yank," she laughed, shaking her head.

"Here, this will put the hair back on your chest," Ciara told him, grinning, as she poured him a large snifter of the Irish Whiskey.

"Hey, I'm Italian. In that department, I got no problems," he answered, with a cocky grin.

"So, your admitting it then. Your flawed. Ain't it just like a Yank. Hiding behind your Mammy's skirts and drinking your fancy beers and spoofing nonsense. And your expecting me to sit back and let you take control. To trust you, a Yank afeared of a drink," Ciara told him, egging him on.

"First of all, if you met my Ma, Ciara, you would know that no one hides behind her skirts. She is from New York. Proud of it, too. Strong. Independent. She raised me all by herself. The one thing she taught me growing up was to own who you are, have a sense of pride and don't let anyone tell you what you can or cannot do. My Ma didn't take crap from anyone, "Dante told Ciara, as she placed her chin in her hands, smiling.

"Come on, Yank, down the hatch, unless your afeared. Where's your sense of adventure? It's just whiskey."

"Oh, I can handle it. Believe me," Dante replied with a mischievous wink, lifting the large shot glass and tilting his head back, emptying it in one gulp. The liquor hit him hard, causing his head to spin and his eyes to glaze. He shook his head, coughing as he felt the liquid at the back of his throat, its hot intensity like a flame searing his flesh.

"It's not your watered-downed version, is it, Yank. Fine Irish Whiskey, it is," Ciara replied, pouring him another. Dante reached for it downing this one a little slower, the impact not as heavy as the first. He sat on a stool at the bar and Ciara walked around, taking a seat beside him, pouring another shot.

"Tell me about ASEC?" Dante asked her, turning on his stool until he was facing her, his knees brushing against hers.

Ciara had to take a moment to catch her breath, the contact like an electric current pulsing through her body, "I thought you said you worked for ASEC," Ciara asked suspiciously.

"No, my partner, Lucky told you ASEC hired us," Dante replied, watching the brief flash of suspicion appear and then vanish, as she seemed to buy his lie, "I want to know how you got involved with them."

"For the children. Every second, hundreds disappear all around the world. Some are sold to your America's, their families promised a good life for their wee one, while the wee laddie is sold into servitude, living his life hidden in some closet. The unlucky find themselves in the black market, the sex trade, at the mercy of your Yankee men, the unwitting stars of your internet trade."

"The Balkan, he controls this trade?" Dante questioned her, trying to discover her connection to him.

"A good part. No one moves a wee lass without him knowing about it. Without him getting a piece of the pie. He is the devil, he is. His heart black as the thickest and hardest piece of coal."

"You know all of this, and yet you still challenge him," Dante answered, his voice rising with anger.

"I am not afeared of him, Yank," Ciara replied, honestly, smiling, as Siobhan sat down beside her, curiosity reflected on her face, "What did I miss?" she asked, as Lucky walked up behind her, observing.

Ciara sat, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her seething eyes locked on the handsome Yank. It was truly the devil's work, to make a man so irresistible, to give him eyes that held you captive, muscled arms that were like the strongest oak tree and hands that felt like a velvet glove against your skin. He wasn't tall by any means, his height practically equal to hers, but he had a presence, a way about him that stopped one in their tracks. Made one take notice.

Ciara was watching the way his lips parted, a mere millimeter, imagining those same lips near hers. Pressed against her, trailing down her arm and further. She gasped, turning as Siobhan punched her lightly in the arm, "Are you listening, Ciara?"

"I dinna hear?" Ciara answered softly, her cheeks reddened and her heart racing. She was still transfixed by his mere locality, just a few inches away. She shook her head, resentment spirally upward, as he smiled, a knowing look, heating his expression.

"Me throat is dry as a desert," Ciara replied, willing his image from her head, as she sipped her shot, allowing the warm liquid to trail down her throat.

"I canna stay, Ciara. Me Danny is not well. I be needing to tuck him in his own bed, in me own house, Ciara."

"Danny is your son?" Lucky asked Siobhan, who turned her head, her green eyes the color of moss.

"Yes, Danny is of me own flesh and blood. The sun has already set, Ciara. I be needing to take him home." Siobhan informed her, hinting that she could not stay. No, that she would not.

"Then, go, Siobhan. No one be holding you prisoner here. I will see you in the morning," Ciara told her, as her good friend, sighed in relief.

"May I walk you home?" Lucky asked Siobhan, as she turned back to him, a smile spreading upon her face.

"I be needing to stop at Mrs. O' Riley's, " Siobhan told him, as Lucky shrugged his shoulders, backing a few inches to allow her to stand.

"How old is your son?" Lucky asked her, assisting her with her coat, as she turned to Ciara, sending a look of warning her way, "Be Careful, Ciara. I'll see you in the morning."

"It was nice meeting you, Siobhan," Dante stated, as she muttered something atune to disapproval and Lucky escorted her toward the door. He turned back to Dante, sending his own look of warning and nodding toward his sister. Dante just waved him off, turning his full attention to Ciara.

"You never did answer, " Lucky told Siobhan, as he opened the heavy oak door and felt the cold wind hit his face.

"What was the question?" Siobhan asked, seeming distracted.

"How old is Danny?"

"Oh, Danny be almost 18 months," she said, watching his expression. This was the point when most lads ran in the other direction. Her eyes remained on his, curious if he would do the same.

"Nearly two, huh. That can be a crazy age," Lucky replied, thinking of his best friend Elizabeth.

"You doona mind," Siobhan questioned, waiting with baited breath, "Mind, why would I? I love kids. Back home, my friend Elizabeth and her husband have a baby girl. Her name's Molly."

"Like Molly Malone?" Siobhan laughed, as Lucky followed her out the door, "What? Did I miss something?"

"No, just an old Irish tune. If you are in Murphy's tomorrow night you will hear it. Patrick will sing. The pub will be alive with music and good Irish tunes that move your feet."

"Will you be there?" Lucky asked, as she grinned back, "I wouldna dream of missing it."

"Then, yeah, I'll be there," Lucky answered, pulling his hat down lower and bracing himself against the cold, biting wind, as he walked beside her.

* * *

"You still haven't answered my question, Ciara," Dante told her, when they found themselves once again alone at the bar.

It was a slow night and the barkeep, a young man by the name of Niles, had locked up the place and since departed.

"Are you hungry?" Ciara asked Dante, changing the subject, as she jumped from the bar stool, standing beside her seated Yank.

"Hungry?"

"Irish Stew, you doona remember? I am famished," she answered, disappearing around the back of the bar.

He stood to follow, a noise behind him stopping in his tracks. The doorknob to Murphy's rattling and the click of the lock disengaging, snapping him to attention.

He reached for the gun, he held holstered beneath his leather jacket, moving quickly and stealthily toward the entrance, aiming the weapon at the door.

Dante did not know who was more surprised, the freckle-faced man who walked inside the pub, only to find a gun pressed against his cheek, or the sound of the bowl crashing to the floor, its contents spilling everywhere, as Ciara cried out in alarm.

"You have exactly two seconds to tell me who the fuck you are," Dante said vehemently, his breathing raspy from the adrenaline that was shooting through his body.

"Feckin 'A. Who the feck are you, Yank? I can come and go as I please. You are the outsider here," the lad, as strong as an ox, wearing a blue sweater and a plaid flannel jacket said, turning to Ciara.

"Call Daniel and the boys, Ciara. I will handle this," Kiernan ordered, dismissing her.

Dante didn't like the way that the man ordered Ciara about, expecting her to snap to attention and then dismissing her with a turn of his head.

"Do you know who this is?" Dante asked Ciara, his eyes darting to her face, noticing the frantic expression on her face. She nodded, as Kiernan answered for her.

"I'm family, you feckin Yank. Your in Ireland now, my country, so I'll be asking the question and you be answering. Who the feck are you?"

"He's my bodyguard," Ciara answered, as Kiernan focused his gaze on hers once again.

"And why, wee lassie, do you be needing a protector?" Kiernan questioned her, his anger rising.

"I doona need someone to hover over me. Either one of you," Ciara replied, hotly.

She was tired. The only thing that she wanted more at this moment was to feel the feather softness of her pillow beneath her head. She raked her hand through her hair in frustration, a movement that Dante did not miss.

"ASEC sent me," Dante told him, pulling Ciara into his side, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist, his hand stroking her back in a soothing motion. He felt her back tighten, the tension unleashed, as the man's eyes became dark, the color of leaves shrouded in the black of night.

"ASEC! Ciara, have you gone daft? I told you, but you dinna listen, Ciara. He is back, this Balkan? He is threatening to harm you? How do you know that he isna working for the Balkan? Pretending to watch over you," Kiernan asked, irate.

"I do not work for the Balkan!" Dante shouted, as Kiernan tried to reach for Ciara, "I dinna believe you."

"No, Stop," Ciara cried out, as Kiernan tried to pull her from Dante's grasp. Dante pulled her behind him, protecting her from Kiernan. One arm held her securely, while the other trained his gun on the man's threatening advance.

She placed her hand on Dante's arm, her eyes pleading with him to lower the gun, "He's my brother."

Dante lowered his gun to his side, securing it, before holstering it inside his jacket, while still holding her against his side.

"Your brother," Dante stated, turning to Ciara, whose hazel's eyes brimmed with tears. They looked nothing alike, aside from the freckles on their faces. A fact that, if he had not known her true identity, would have been very apparent.

Ciara moved her hand up Dante's arm, holding tightly, as she turned to her brother, Kiernan.

"Who sent you? Daniel? Shane?" she demanded, one hand perched on her hip.

"What does it matter, Ciara? He's a feckin Yank. What are you doin, lass?" he shouted, pointing at Dante.

"It is me own life, Kiernan. You doona get to tell me how to live it," she yelled back.

"Hey-" Dante said, trying to interrupt, but apparently invisible in the room.

"Your own life? You are too damned independent woman. You should be home raising babies and taking care of your man. Not, running into danger," he said, angrily, raising his hand toward Dante and shaking his fist, "He is going to protect you, Ciara? He barely knows you. You trust him more than your family? Your own blood?"

"It's not like that, Kiernan. I doona want him," she lied, turning toward Dante, "but here he is."

"Then, tell him to piss off, Ciara. Send him back where he belongs."

"I cannot, Kiernan," she whispered, wiping the tears that fell upon her face, "I will not."

"Then, you suffer the consequences, Ciara. If'n he stays, the locals willna be pleased. That will fall on you, Ciara, just as on him. I doona know if I can protect you."

"I'll protect her," Dante said, once again, pulling her into his side. If she was his he would move heaven and earth to shield her from harm. What the hell kind of country was this, that her own brother, blood-related or not, chose not to stand by her side?

"I know that you love me, Kiernan. I love you, too. But, I need you to trust me," she pleaded, as her brother looked back at her with distrust in his eyes.

"This is not about love, Ciara. It will not save you if the Balkan finds you," Kiernan told her, a steely glint in his eyes, as Ciara gently unleashed herself from Dante's hold and embraced her brother.

"Do you trust him?" Kiernan asked, his eyes locked on her protector, each challenging the other to raise their hand and cause her harm.

"I doona know," Ciara answered truthfully, breaking free from her brother's arms and focusing on Dante. His eyes were dark with emotion, claiming her with a look, as he dared her to refute his promise, "ASEC trusts him. Maybe...I know that he willna harm me. I feel that he means to-"

"He won't get anywhere near her," Dante told her brother, breaking contact with her, only to focus on her brother, "You have my word."

"I doona like leaving you alone with him, Ciara. It is not right," Kiernan told her, glaring at her.

"I can protect meself, Kiernan. How many times have you come to my rescue, only to find I've already handled it?"

"That was different," Kiernan answered.

"How?"

"None of them were Yanks," he whispered in her ear, leaning close.

Several minutes later, after much coaxing and numerous steely glances at Dante, Kiernan reluctantly agreed to go, promising to be back before the sun met the horizon. Ciara locked the door behind him, the silence in the room deafening. She could hear his heart beating from across the room. Or, was it her own deceitful heart that betrayed her.

"Where is the kitchen?" Dante asked her, seeing the remains of the Irish Stew on the floor. She pointed him in the direction and he returned with a trash bin and several paper towels to wipe up the mess. When he was finished, he returned everything to its rightful place, washed his hands and went in search of something to eat. He heated some of the stew, placing it on plates and adding a few chunks of crusty bread with melted butter.

Ciara stood next to a jukebox, the melodic chords of Irish lasses singing about Ireland's haunting history filling the room. The music was relaxing, evocative, its notes conjuring images of Ireland's past, its loves, its battles. She closed her eyes, letting the music envelop her, as her hands rested on the jukebox and the music calmed her.

"That's beautiful. What is it?" Dante asked, placing the two plates on the table, as he went behind the bar. Yes, he exclaimed, finding two bottles of Guinness and walking toward the jukebox.

Ciara turned and smiled, as he handed her the bottle of beer, a cocky grin on his face, "It's not a Bismark. But, it'll have to do."

"What's a Bismark?" Ciara asked, taking a sip of the lager.

"Best thing you will ever have in your life," Dante answered, "Well, aside from me," he answered, with a wicked grin.

Ciara rolled her eyes, turning her gaze to the jukebox and making a final selection.

Dante pulled a chair out for her, waiting until she was seated before reaching for one and placing it beside her. They ate in silence, his eyes locked on hers, a duel where neither wished to admit defeat. When they were finished and their beer bottles were empty, he leaned back against his chair, a satisfied look upon his face and once again listened to the sounds of the music all around him.

"So?" Dante asked, as Ciara looked at him, her curiosity peaked.

"So?" she answered.

"Well, what is this?" he asked closing his eyes. His face becoming serene, as he listened to the melody, the instrumental notes soothing, erasing the stress of the last few days. It made you soar, before its beats increased, the fluted notes causing your feet to tap and your arms to reach for your loved one. He had a sudden idea.

"Why?" Ciara asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Dance with me?" Dante asked her, pulling her into his arms, as she smiled.

"You can't slow dance to this, Yank," she grinned, starting to instruct him, "I'll teach you the Irish jig."

"Put your weight on your left foot...Now, place your right foot out in front of you," she laughed, as Dante placed the wrong foot, "Your other right foot, you foolish Yank."

"Good. Now, point the toes of your right foot."

Dante listened, pointing his toes as directed.

"Hop once on your left foot, while you raise your right foot. Hop again on your left foot, while you raise your right leg, bent at the knee, back behind you."

Ciara laughed as Dante nearly fell over, pulling her with him, as she giggled next to him.

"Ok, I think I got this. Let's try this again, " he said, as she directed him.

One..Two..hop-hop...Back..two-three-four.

She laughed out loud when Dante once again tripped, this time pulling her all the way to the floor, cushioning her fall with his chest.

Her long blond hair fell about his face, her hazel eyes nearly green, as they sparkled with humor, then turned to something more. He raised his left hand, lifting a few strands of her hair off of her face and tucking them behind her ear. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated, as he felt her pulse beating rapidly, his hand caressing the side of her neck and creating a trail toward her breasts. He watched her face, as his fingers traced the hollow beneath her chin, moving slowly downward until the palm of his hand rested between both of her breasts. He felt her chest retract, as she inhaled sharply and watched her lips as they parted in surprise.

Then he cupped her and she gasped, his other hand pulling her down and capturing her moans, as his tongue pushed past the barrier of her lips, mating with hers.

God, he couldn't get enough of her. She tasted like the sweetest nectar. Her startled gasps caused his cock to stir and he shifted, moving his hand to her buttocks and pressing her against him, grinding himself against her. Her breathing became frantic, his kisses capturing every sigh, every moan. His body instinctively thrust against her, his eyes closed, his senses on full alert. His fingers teased her nipple, feeling it harden beneath his touch.

His lips moved toward her ear, capturing the lobe between his lips and sucking. Her breathing was faster, her hands clinging to him, as he pinned her, his hands holding her immobile, as he continued to thrust upward against her jeans. He could feel her begin to unravel, her body shaking, as his hand moved toward the button of her jeans. POP...the sound like a gunshot to her ears. Alarm bells, ringing in her head. What the hell was she doing?

His hand slowly pulled her zipper down, his hand pressing against the silk fabric beneath. Ciara's emotions were on overload, she could barely think. She needed to stop. Then, she felt his fingers slip past the fabric and thrust high, holding still inside of her, as her body milked the digits. He held her close as she began to come, his fingers pumping in and out of her, hard and fast. She could only feel pressure.

The pleasure so intense, she cried out, her body shattering around him, as he whispered in her ear, "Ssh, I got you."

Only when the last shudder subsided, when her breathing became normal, did the horror of what she had done become apparent.

"Where's your room?" Dante asked her, never wanting to lose himself more in a woman in his entire life.

"I can't-"

"Don't worry, I'll carry you," Dante told her, rising to his feet, cradling her against him, as he climbed the stairs, his lips trying once again to capture hers.

"No. Please, stop. I can't-"

"What's wrong?" Dante asked her, as he reached the last step and stood in front of one of the doors. He released his hold on her, watching her face as her legs untangled themselves and he lowered her to the ground, the brush of his skin to hers causing her mouth to open.

"I can see in your eyes that you want me. Did I come on strong? I'm so sorry. If I hurt you-"

"I do want you. So much it scares me," she told him, her chest moving up and down.

"There isn't anything to be afraid of," Dante assured her, pulling her against him, "God, I need to be inside of you," he told her, pressing his lips to hers, as she began to tremble once more.

I should push him away, Ciara told herself, clinging fast to his arms, as he reached around her, and turned the doorknob, pushing the door open.

Then, he lifted her into his arms, his erection pressed against her and she gasped at the feel of it sliding against her center. The moisture pooling, as she kissed him back. His hands moved on her buttocks and he adjusted her against him, his cock tormenting her, prodding against her jeans.

She closed her eyes, the sensations overpowering. She felt the back of her knees hit the end of the bed, her legs slide down his and her feet hit the floor.

Her eyes opened abruptly, as the cold breeze wafted against her naked flesh, as Dante quickly stripped her jeans, leaving her standing in her green thong. He pulled her arms over her head, his mouth and lips sucking and kissing every exposed surface of her arm, her neck, her face, as he removed the sweater.

He gazed at her breasts, his look causing them to instantly harden. Then, his lips captured her nipple, sucking and drawing the pebble into his mouth, holding Ciara pressed to his body, her knees threatening to buckle.

He pushed her back against the bed, until she lay upon it, her hot gaze locked on his, as he disrobed.

Ciara wasn't a virgin. She'd seen one or two naked men in her life, but none compared to the Adonis that stood before her.

His muscled chest was perfectly sculptured, a tattoo above one breast. Her eyes trailed down to his abdomen and then to his sex, jutting upward. Her eyes were wide with awe. Was this going to work, she thought.

"Relax." Dante told her, whispering softly in her ear, as his hand drifted lower, cupping her warm center and testing her readiness. His finger slipped inside, her juices covering him and gripping him tightly. She was more than ready, he thought, shaking from the anticipation.

Jesus, if being inside her was anything like watching her cum, he expected the walls to burst into flames around them.

Ciara heard the rustling of a package, saw Dante's teeth tear at something in his mouth, then his hand disappeared from her hip. She didn't have long to contemplate where it went, as seconds later she felt the head of his penis push at her entrance. His finger that was inside her retracted, parting her folds and pressing them open, as he thrust inside. A few inches at first, the beads of sweat appearing on his forehead, as her body reacted, tightening and barring him any further.

"Ssh, just let your body feel, Ciara," he said softly, his voice erotic, as one hand stroked her, causing more liquid to pool and allowing him to slide in further.

She gasped and he tilted his hips, pinning her to him as he thrust hard, driving all the way in. He nearly came undone as she cried out his name, her body milking him, as she came, her orgasm spurring him on.

He moved slowly at first, lifting her hips high atop his and telling her to cross her ankles behind his back. He placed her hands around his neck, loving the feel of her hardened nipples stabbing at his chest with each thrust of his hips.

Her breathing hitched and her cheeks started to heat once more, as he continued to pump inside of her, his erection wanting to know more than ever how she would feel, her flesh wrapped around him like a tight-fisted glove.

"Oh, God..." she cried out, as her body began to shudder once more and he let go, thrusting faster, angling his hips and urging her to counter his movements.

He felt his cock swell inside her, his breathing increasing, as he felt the pressure, felt her walls envelop him.

"Oh..Fuck...God..Ciara," he shouted, as he threw his head back and shouted her name, her body taking every last drop of him.

Their shudders decreased, his breathing slowly returned to normal and still he remained inside her, his cock twitching at each movement of her hips.

She opened her eyes and stared silently into his, no words spoken.

He pressed his lips to hers, as he pulled out of her, reaching down and discarding the condom, tossing it on the floor beside the bed. He turned to his side and pulled her flush against him, her backside nudging his now flacid arousal.

He wrapped one arm around her waist, his hand cupping her breast, while the other offered a cushion for her head. Placing a kiss upon her head, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, one leg over hers, entwining them.

Ciara lay awake for what seemed like hours, hearing the steady breathing from his chest and the gently stroking of his thumb against her breast.

She had never felt like this with anyone.

Three orgasms in one night?

She couldn't tell you how many times she had faked it before him.

Her insides were in turmoil, her body on constant alert around him. His penis was like a fecking electric rod, causing her insides to jolt from the electricity and her body to feel like mush.

Emotions were turning her inside out, even now when he was sound asleep, the feel of him behind her, caused her backside to press against him. She felt his penis twitch and heard the heavy sound of his breathing. His hand moving beneath her breast, his thumb teasing, as his fingers pinched.

"Oh," she cried out, using her hand to muffle her gasp, as her buttocks pressed against him. She felt him harden behind her and heard the rapid beat of his heart. Then, she felt his fingers probing at her entrance, teasing the wet crease from behind. Then, she felt him move, his hand holding his cock, as he stroked it back and forth, waiting for her gasp. When, she cried out, he pulled her hips toward him, moving over her backside and positioning himself, "Are you sure?" she heard him whisper, as he panted.

"Please," she begged, as he thrust home, pulling her back against him, as his arms held her, while his hips moved faster, and his cock worked inside her like a well-oiled piston.

He could feel her walls tighten around him, the pressure on his naked skin...Jesus, he forgot a fucking condom.

She was shuddering around him and it took every ounce of control he had to restrain from pumping one last time, sinking inside her and erupting like a volcano.

Ciara's body fought him, as he slowly pulled out, the sweat rolling down his face, as he concentrated on not joining her in rapture.

She was still shaking from the after-effects, her body covered in sweat. His eyes were closed tightly, his bottom lip, gripped painfully by his teeth.

"Dante?" she exclaimed, noticing his face contorted in pain, and his turgid member swollen unbelievably large, a bead of moisture appearing at the tip.

"Bathroom," Dante shouted, as she pointed to a doorway toward the far left.

Dante couldn't move fast enough, stepping inside the water closet and praying that it had a shower. He turned to the right and saw the standing shower, placed in the corner. Quickly, he turned the nozzle, moving it all the way to the right and practically shouting in relief as the ice-cold stream hit him full-force.

Holding himself in his hands, he pumped hard, imagining it was her hands that pressed against his flesh. He grew larger, despite the cold water, turning toward the wall and bracing himself, as his hand pumped one last time and he ejaculated against the tiles.

His fists punched against the tiles, as the shudders racked his body, and he emptied himself.

How could he be so stupid?

Never with any of his previous lovers had he ever lost complete control.

No condom. Jesus, what the fuck was wrong with him?

He grabbed the soap from the shelf , a flowery scent wafting over him, as he poured it into his hands and washed is hair and then his body. He rinsed himself, until he thought his skin would turn blue from the cold water, only then turning the nozzle to the off position.

He reached above him and gripped the shower head with one hand, while the other brushed through the wet strands of his hair.

How the fuck did he talk himself out of this one?

He was her fucking bodyguard, period.

"Fuck, get a grip Falconeri," he said, pounding his fist against the wall and reaching for the shower curtain.

She stood inside the bathroom, within reach, her body once again clothed.

"You changed," Dante whispered, noticing how the yoga pants clung to her body and the loose tee shirt molded against her breasts.

He had a sudden fantasy of pulling her up against him and taking her against the tiled walls, fucking her until she was completely out of his system. The fact was, he didn't think that was ever going to happen.

Even now, his dick twitching at her nearness. He held he shower curtain against him, hiding his erection, as she handed him the towel.

"I'll just be using the shower down the hall, then," she told him, backing away, her eyes hesitant, searching for something that he wasn't sure he could give. She closed the door and he waited for her steady footfalls, hearing them slowly fade.

"Fuck," he said, turning toward the shower and turning it on, positioning the cold water full-blast onto his hardening arousal.

When he was finished and assured that he could walk near her, without jumping her bones, he stepped out of the shower, towel-dried his body and walked into the bedroom.

It was empty. On the bed were a pair of old sweats and a large tee shirt. He pulled the sweats on , tying the strings together and then pulling the shirt over his head.

He was just tugging it down over his upper torso when she knocked, cautiously opening the door.

She sighed, from relief or disappointment, he wasn't sure.

"I be needing to change the sheets," she told him, placing the clean fabric on a chair beside the bed and reaching underneath the mattress, pulling the sheets off of the bed.

"Here, let me help," Dante told her, taking the sex-stained sheets and tossing them in a hamper near the door. He grabbed one side of the clean sheet, while she took the other, each working quickly and the bed was made in no time at all.

"Thanks," she told him, opening her mouth and about to say more, "Dinna you hear that?" she said, turning toward the door, as she thought she heard sounds coming from downstairs.

Dante reached for his gun on the dresser, cocking it and pushing her behind him, as she laughed behind him.

"Not every soul in Cork County be out to get me, Dante," she smiled, as he turned to her with a scolding glance, pressing his finger to his lips.

She giggled, moving her hand across her lips, mouthing, Mum's the word.

Cautiously, he crept down the stairs, his bare feet, silently moving against the wooden floor.

He moved closer, a creak resounding inside the room, as his foot hit the floor. He stopped in his tracks, his gun aimed at the door.

"Hey, I know you're in there. I can hear you. Dante, is that you?" the man said from the other side of the door.

With relief, Dante placed the safety on his gun and set it atop the bar, reaching for the lock and letting the man inside.

"It took you long enough," Lucky told Dante, noticing his wet hair and new clothes, "It's a little early for bed, isn't it," he said, eye-balling Dante with suspicion, "Where's Lu-" he stopped himself, turning to the woman who stood at the bottom of the stairs.

Her hair was fresh from the shower, her face flushed and red. She had the look of a woman well-loved, Lucky thought, turning to Dante as flames burst within his eyes.

"I can explain," Dante said, as he felt Lucky's fist hit him full in the face, his left cheek in pain, as stars erupted all around him.

Fuck, he thought to himself, bending over as Ciara rushed to his side, pressing a cold cloth to his already reddening cheek.

"Are you all right?" she said softly, in concern, removing the cloth, and growing angry at the sight of the bruise already starting to appear. She pressed her lips against his skin and brushed her finger gently, tending to his injury.

"I'm feeling better by the minute, " Dante whispered, gazing into her eyes. Florence Nightingale to the rescue, he thought, smiling as an image of her in a nurse's uniform came to mind.

"Feckin 'A. What ferret crawled up your ass?" she accused, placing her hand on her hip and glaring at Lucky.

"He...he.." Lucky tried to say, trying to figure out how to get himself out of this situation. He grinned, and watched the cocky smile fall from Dante's face.

"Lucky?" Dante said, in warning.

"He slept with my sister. The fucking bastard. After he promised he wouldn't," Lucky told Ciara, looking toward her, "You watch your heart, Ciara. That one," Lucky told her, pointing at a seething Dante, "he'll break it.

"Lulu? Is that what this be about?" Ciara asked, looking between the two men. She was afraid to leave the room, the tension so thick that you had to cut it with a knife.

"Do you love her?" Ciara asked, turning her gaze to Dante, as his eyes focused on her, and he nodded his head.

"No, I'm not in love with her," Dante said, locking his gaze on hers, watching worry pass over her face, then relief. Yet, he added.

"That didn't stop you from fucking her, now did it?" Lucky yelled, as Ciara pointed her finger at him.

"Piss off, Yank. You can be finding somewhere else to bunk if'n you doona watch your tongue. You get me?" she demanded, ready to throw the American out.

"Here, let me help you." she told Dante, as he leaned against her, moaning, as she pressed the cold cloth to his cheek.

"Aw, you poor baby," Ciara cooed, soothing his ache with her touch, "Come on, I'll help you to your room."

"I think that he broke my jaw," Dante said, clutching it, as if he were in constant pain, milking the situation for everything he could.

"Are you buying this?" Lucky shouted to Ciara, who shot him a look of disgust and disdain, "You should be ashamed of yourself. Hitting an innocent man. This Lulu is not even here."

"You believe me?" Dante said in amazement, looking into her eyes, "Why wouldn't I? You would not lie to me," she answered, trusting him completely.

A pained expression came over Dante, the look not unnoticed by Ciara, "Let's get you to bed. I'll be dealing with you when I get back," she informed Lucky with a scathing glance.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4

Danny Boy

"Hey, aren't we-" Dante asked, pointing to her room, "No," Ciara answered, opening a door adjacent to hers.

"I just thought-"

"I be knowing what you thought, and the answer be the same, No," Ciara told him, holding the door open for him.

"Why?" Dante asked, standing in front of her, his hand tracing a path from below her chin toward her breasts. She gasped, as his hand brushed the underside of her breast, her nipple hardening beneath his touch. His thumb stroked the sensitive nub, teasing it, as he watched it blossom before his eyes. Ciara's hand stayed his, before her body could betray her further, pushing back against the door and retreating into the room.

"I took the liberty of placing your things in here," she told him, pointing toward the closet, "If'n you be needing anything else-"

"Your scared," Dante answered, his eyes focused on the way her chest rose and fell rapidly, her mouth slightly parted.

"Afeared? Never in me life. You be spinning yarns, you are," Ciara replied, her face suddenly warm, as she felt the heat rise in her cheeks.

"You felt it, too. Didn't you?" Dante questioned her, walking toward her, as she backed slowly, shaking her head, only stopping when she hit the wall.

She expelled a breath, not even realizing that she was holding it, until his arms braced against the wall, one on each side of her, holding her in place.

"This thing between us," Dante continued, his breath like a feather against her skin, its brief touch causing goosebumps and shivers up and down her torso. Everything about him set her on fire, burned her so deeply that he surely left scars.

"Nothing but foolery, it is. An itch needing to be scratched," she whispered, as Dante leaned in closer, his lips barely grazing her earlobe.

"Liar," he whispered, placing a kiss upon her neck, as his hand moved to her hip, his fingers grasping the hem of her shirt and lifting. His brown eyes, darkening to the richest color of chocolate, focused on hers, watching her expression, her body's response, as his hand moved slowly across her abdomen. He felt her muscles clench, saw her lips close tightly, and heard her moan, as her eyes slowly closed and her head fell back against the wall. He moved closer, his lips caressing the skin at the corner of her eye, the tip of her nose, her cheek, then back behind her ear. She reacted, her body pushing against his, as she felt his tongue tease that spot, licking and sucking, then blowing on it.

"Itch my ass," Dante replied, breathing hard, as her eyes grew dark as an Irish storm, "It'll take a lot more than a single night to get you out of my system, Ciara. You're like a goddamn electrical socket, draining every ounce of energy from me."

"How long?" she whispered, her hands grasping his head, unsure whether to cling to him desperately, or push him away.

"Excuse me?" Dante asked, as her hands fell to his shoulders, and he rubbed against her, his lips returning to nibble on her ear, while his hand reached up to stroke the side of her face.

"How feckin long? Do you wonder about her? Be wanting to know where she be, who she be with?"

"She?" Dante mumbled, his lips trailing down her neck, his knee parting her thighs, as his hands grasped her forearms and held her against the wall.

"Lulu," Ciara answered, her body betraying her once more, as she forced herself to remain in control.

"Lulu? What does-" he started to ask, as Ciara interrupted.

"Answer the question, Yank. Do you think about her? When you be holding me in your arms and uttering your fancy words, when you-" she stopped, watching the look of befuddlement, then uncertainty cross his face.

Dante released her, turning to run his hand through his hair, wondering how the fuck he was going to answer her. Lulu and Ciara were the same. He moved toward the bed, facing her once more, as she made the decision for him. Disbelief turning to anger, as she read the emotions on his face. Saw her truth in his eyes.

"Ciara, you don't-" Dante began, as she grew angry, turning toward the door and opening it.

"Feck off, Yank!" she answered, bitterly, slamming the door in his face.

Dante walked slowly toward the bed, sitting down upon it, completely flustered, his palms rubbing the sides of his forehead. She was jealous.

"Fuckin A," he said out loud.

* * *

Ciara stormed down the stairs, her eyes blazing and her fists aching for a fight. One day? Was it possible for a man to get under your skin, to crawl so far up your skirts, to invade your blood like a drug, the narcotic so potent that you craved it more and more, and all in less time then it took for the sun to rise and then set?

"Is everything ok?" Lucky asked, sitting at a table, nursing a beer with one hand, while an ice pack rested against the other.

Ciara said nothing, walked behind the bar and reached for a bottle of whiskey. She poured a shot, setting the bottle on the counter, before tossing the shot back, downing the liquid in one gulp. It's fire scorched her throat, causing her to gasp, as she felt the liquid trickle down her throat and hit her stomach like a ball of fire.

"I'm a good listener, if you want to talk?" Lucky told her, seeing the look of confusion on her face.

"No, I doona want to," she answered, pouring another shot and slamming it back.

"My father used to drink like that, when all the troubles in the world weighed like a ton on his shoulders," Lucky shared, watching her eyes turn to a deep golden amber, her ire rising. She was stubborn like a Spencer, he noticed, more like his father in her every mannerism. It worried him. His father's genes running through her blood. His genes. The Spencer DNA. It was his father's downfall. His mother's nightmare. The weight that he carried on his shoulders. She wasn't even aware of who she was, and yet still she bore everything the name represented, carried her own cursed weight.

"You a psychiatrist?" Ciara asked, mocking him.

"A friend. If you need one," Lucky told her, wishing he could form some kind of bond with her.

"Friend? I got all the fecking friends I need, Yank," she replied, tossing the remainder of the shot in the sink and turning her back on him, "Your room is top of the stairs, last one on the right. Turn off the lights when you be goin, or you be owing the barkeep several quid!"

"Good night, Ciara. Sweet Dreams," Lucky said, watching her snicker as she climbed the stairs.

_Sweet Dreams_, Ciara thought. If'n the dreams dinna come, that would be sweet.

* * *

She tossed and turned on the bed, the sheets tangled around her, her body covered in a silky sheen. It was always the same, the nightmare that claimed her. Her Mammy told her once that it started years ago, when she was but a wee lass. A monster under her bed, but no more. Every night, Ciara relived the dream, the images vague, but the fear palpable. It was a curse, a maddening horror movie of her own making.

_The child hid in the blackness shrouding her, fear controlling her. She felt the sack around her head, its uncomfortable cloth like sandpaper to her skin. Her hands were tied together, the rope making her skin itch._

_She did not know where she was, the tears coursing down her face, as she huddled in a corner, confused and frightened._

"_Shush," she heard in the darkness, moving closer to the cold metal wall, as something scooted toward her._

"_They be hearing you. Doona make a sound," the strange voice whispered. _

_She jumped, nearly crying out, as she felt the hands that touched hers soon stroking her wrists, calming her._

"_I am Ciara," she heard her whisper._

"_Do you know where my Mommy is? I want my Mommy," the little girl cried, clutching her knees and rocking herself._

"_You talk funny. Me family's name is Kelly. Irish we be. Where do you call home?"_

"_New York," the little girl answered, lifting her head from her knees and turning toward the sound of the voice._

"_You be in Ireland, lassie," the girl with the accent told her, a gentle hand soothing her, as the girl in the corner, started to sob._

"_Doona worry, lassie. Close your eyes. I be watching over you. Do as I say and you be in your Mammy's arms before you know it."_

_The little girl let sleep take her, the hands stroking her wrists, settling her nerves and slowing her racing heart. Soon, she dreamed of Mama's pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving, and Grandma Lesley arguing with Daddy. She said that he didn't know how to carve a turkey and he muttered something under his breath about saving Port Charles from...icicles? Daddy didn't know she heard. But, she listened all the time. He talked to the man with the funny accent. _

_Once, she saw him, scared that he would tell Daddy her hiding spot. But, he just grinned, his big smile making her all warm inside. He had eyes that sparkled and she laughed when she heard his funny words. He talked funny all the time. _

_She wished she could hear his funny words now. _

_She wished Daddy would find her hiding place. _

_She heard the sound of rattling chains, a blinding light breaching the darkness, piercing the cloth, like the tiniest stars. _

"_Ssh. Doona say a word." Ciara, told her._

_She huddled closer to the wall, trying to stay invisible. She heard the screams, their frightening voices surrounding her. _

_Stay quiet. You must be quiet._

_She bit her lip, the taste of blood like metal on her tongue. It soaked into the rag that was tied across her face, the fabric loose from days in captivity._

_The tears fell upon her face, black shadows all around her._

_They came closer. The black mass like a monster. The monster that hid beneath her bed. _

_She didn't have her bat. She needed her bat._

_Daddy, she whispered, needing to hear his voice. Her fear escalating, as the monster came closer._

_Then, she felt the strong arms reach for her, grabbing her, pulling her from her hiding spot. _

_She screamed, her legs kicking out from underneath her, as she was lifted from the darkness. Her screams continuing to pierce the night air._

"Ciara, dammit, it's Dante," he shouted, shaking her, as her screams filled the air. Her arms flailed at him, her legs kicking frantically beneath him.

"Ssh," he whispered in her ear, holding her tightly, rocking her, as the screams soon turned to sobs, her eyes closed tightly to the nightmare that held her prisoner.

When her sobs had quieted, he loosened his hold, still protecting her in the comfort of his arms. Her eyes slowly opened, his warm gaze looking back at her, as she saw his hand wipe the tears from her eyes and felt his arms gently wrapped around her.

Her eyes frightened him, their wild look, causing his skin to crawl and his heart to pound in his chest. Her nightmare scared her.

He could see the fear in her eyes linger.

He could feel her body tremble.

Something in him, broke, tears welling in his eyes and he kissed her on the lips, soft and gentle, a brush of skin upon skin. She gasped, her hands clutching his back, as he watched her look of fright turn to frantic desire.

He crushed his lips to hers, her hands reaching for the hem of his sweatpants, quickly pulling them off. Her yoga pants soon followed and then she felt his hands push the fabric of her tee shirt higher, revealing her breasts.

His thumb stroked her flesh, the pebble blossoming beneath his touch. His hands kneaded the flesh, pressing harder, tormenting her with the persistent ache. His lips captured hers once again, devouring her, and then he was inside her, driving them both toward their release, each clinging desperately to the other.

This time when she screamed, her eyes were fully open, her body wrapped around him, as he lay spent inside her. She could feel his very essence coat her walls, his shudders merge with her trembling, his heartbeat matched with hers, and as she looked into his eyes she saw his soul, felt his presence and a new kind of fear embraced her.

* * *

Dante awakened to blinding sunlight, his nude body tangled in the sheet. He recalled last night, Ciara's nightmare and their bout of lovemaking. The first time frantic, their need the only thing that mattered. The second time had been gentle, his desire to hold off as long as possible, to make his focus her pleasure. He sat up in bed, his hands raked through his hair, as he remembered the last time, just before daybreak. Her body riding his, the look on her face as her orgasm claimed her, the sobs that escaped her body, as she clung tightly to him and pressed her lips to his. He would never forget her eyes. Locked on his like she was memorizing every facet of his face, every feel of his skin, every touch of his lips.

He smiled, reached for a towel from the dresser and went to shower. Ten minutes later, he rushed downstairs, freshly washed and eager to see her. He needed to get her alone, to get her to tell him about the dream. Lucky Spencer sat at the table, his head in his hands, as her brother, Kiernan sat at the bar, a cell phone in his hand.

"Where's Ciara?" Dante asked them, his eyes growing larger, as saw the look of concern on their faces.

"She's not with you?" Lucky asked, suddenly wishing that the worst news of the day for him, was finding that his sister had spent the night with his partner.

"No, where is she?"

"Gone. You promised to watch her. I knew I should not have trusted you. You feckin, Yank," Kiernan shouted, his worry evident in his eyes.

"What do you mean, gone?" Dante asked, her betrayal becoming evident, as he realized why she was so frantic that last time.

"Her overnight bag, her papers and her passport. All gone," Kiernan told Dante, an accusation, clearly written on his face.

"Fuck," Dante answered, running his hands through his hair, "Where the hell did she go?"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5  
The Pipes Are Calling

"She can't have much of a head start," Dante stated, reaching for his cell phone and dialing a number.

"Doona be so cocksure, Yank.," Kiernan replied, annoyed with Dante's interference.

"I'd say two, two and half hours at the most," Dante told Lucky, whose eyes focused on him, growing darker by the minute.

"You doona know when she be leaving this place," her brother, Kiernan answered, "She doona like interfering Yanks. You best plant your arse on a plane and go back where you belong."

"I think that's Ciara's decision, don't you?" Dante replied.

"Hey, it's Dante Falconeri," he said to the man on the other end, as he walked outside, shivering in the wind, "Ciara is missing."

"I've known for a few hours, detective," Robert Scorpio informed him, while sitting at his desk in the states.

"Hours? How did you-" Dante questioned the agent, a light bulb going off in his head, "You've had a tail on her?" Dante yelled, angry at the agent.

"Bloody damn straight, we did. You think I was going to sit back and watch her slip through your fingers. She's had someone watching her since you landed. You've done a bodgy job with this one, Detective. What the hell were you thinking? I bloody well assigned you to protect her. If you want to play tiddlywinks, do it on your own time!"

"Hey, that's what I have been doing. Maybe if you would have clued me in on your surveillance team?"

"That's bull dust! You were too bloody set on anything but your job, and she's gone on walkabout. Lucky for you we had her watched. She could have gone anywhere by now. Think you can keep it in your pants this time?" Robert answered.

"Look, I don't know who the hell you think you are, telling me how to do my job. Either, you know where she is, or not?" Dante shouted, pacing back and forth in front of the pub.

"Listen, mate, you just remember who her oldies are, you hear? I'm sending you her coordinates now."

* * *

Ciara Niamh Kelly leaned over the desk, her hands positioned on both sides of the plans, her eyes focused on the schematics before her.

"Colin and Furgus you be holding here," she directed them, pointing to an area on the map thirty yards from the target, "Wait for me signal."

"And me and Sean?" another man asked, dressed in black from head to toe.

"You'll be lookout here," Ciara told him, pointing to the right flank of the large metal container.

"How many?" he asked her, coiled tighter than a rattle snake and ready to strike.

"Me source says a handful or two, no more," she stated, tucking a pistol behind her back.

"We be making an impact, then, lassie," another man answered, grinning, as he realized the number of children being smuggled was lessening.

"Doona be celebrating just yet, laddies. We have much work to be done. Save the cheering after every last one be home safe and sound."

"Any questions be needing answers?" she asked, her answer silence, "Right-O. Colin and Fergus you be moving first. Shane and Ranulf, follow me," Ciara instructed her team, leading them into yet another mission.

Cloaked in the black of night, they moved like shadows, stealthily approaching their target. Two men flanked the cargo containers to the right and left of the metal box, a third guarding the entrance to the large carrier.

"I doona like this, Ciara," Ranulf said beside her, his back to the metal box, his gun cocked and in ready position.

"Doona fash yourself. All will be well," Ciara whispered, in a crouched position, her eyes scanning the area for any additional guards. None. The Balkan was getting soft, she thought.

"Go," she signaled to Colin and Fergus, who moved silently toward the two men on the right, sneaking up behind them, their hands covering the guards mouths, as they dragged them back into the darkness, subduing them. Seconds later, the guards on the left flank were taken out by Shane and Ranulf. That left only the guard watching the entrance to the metal carrier and with odds of four to one, he was taken out quickly, grabbed from behind.

"Your name," Ciara demanded, her disgust written plainly on her face, as she focused her eyes on the man before her.

"She asked you a question, laddie. Start answering," Ranulf ordered, pulling the man's arm tighter behind his back, nearly wrenching it from its socket. He cried out in pain, his eyes directed at the lass in front of him.

"O'Ryan. Donal O'Ryan," the lad answered, glaring at Ciara, "If'n you open this door, lass. It'll be the last name you hear. It's a warning he be sending you. No more," Donal told her, knowing that what the Balkan said was truth. He had questioned the Balkan on his actions just this morning, skeptical of his mission. He had heard the coldness in his voice. The lass was foolish for believing that she could beat him. No one threatened the Balkan and lived to tell about it. Not even a bonny lass, as Ciara herself.

"He be sending me a warning?" Ciara replied, snidely, "I'll be returning one of me own. You tell the Balkan, no more. He's not welcome in Ireland, or anywhere else. Every move he be making, I'll be one step behind," Ciara told him, inching closer to his face.

"Every child he takes, I'll return home," she said, poking him in the chest.  
"Every dollar he makes off of them, I'll burn before his eyes. Be sure to deliver me message, laddie," Ciara answered, "No more."

"I be needing the keys, Shane," Ciara told her friend, as he rifled through the guard's pockets, finding a set of keys within.

Ciara reached for them, grabbing the set of keys and walking quickly toward the rectangular box.

"Ciara, lass, I doona think we should be so quick to open. What if there is more to what he be saying? The box could be a trap, " Ranulf told her, worried for her safety.

"The wee lasses and laddies doona have time for us to question if'n we should or shouldn't, Ranulf. They be needing our help. I willna let them down."

Ciara tried several locks, before finding one that unlocked the mechanism, the chain dropping to the ground at Ciara's feet. With Ranulf and Shane's assistance, she managed to open the door a crack. It was completely dark within.

"Furgus, I be needing your flashlight," Ciara said, as he handed it to her and she shone the light inside. She could see the huddled lass in one corner, her weeping cry in French touching Ciara deep inside. There was only one lass, Ciara thought. Where were the others?

"N'aie pas peur" Ciara told the wee lass, stepping inside the darkness, crouching to her knees and waiting for the child to come to her. She didn't have anything to be afraid of, Ciara would see to that. She would ensure that the child made it home to her mother's arms safe and sound.

When the child realized that Ciara was not a threat, she moved to her arms, safe and free from the Balkan's clutches. Ciara smiled, wiping the tears from the cheeks of the wee lass, gently lifting her and placing her in Ranulf's arms.

"Non," the child cried, reaching for Ciara.

"Ssh," Ciara told her, as she whispered in French that she was safe, "Vous êtes sûrs."

"Go," she ordered to Ranulf, knowing that he would meet up with her at their designated place in a few hours time.

"I don't like this, lass. There is a mischief in the air this night," he told her, his ears perked as he listened. He could have sworn he heard the sound of footsteps. The sound of something hitting metal.

"You be reading your Mammy's tea leaves again, Ranulf? Get on with you. I doona need you for this," she answered.

"You are a foolish lass. You do not need to do this," he warned her, holding the child close," Go, Ranulf. Doona let them see you."

"One of these days your foolery will catch up to you, Ciara. He will catch up to you," Ranulf whispered, as he cradled the child in his arms, turning and moving quickly and silently through the night.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Ciara told the Balkan's man, aiming a pistol at his bollocks, "times awastin. To your knickers," she ordered, as he reluctantly disrobed. When he stood in nothing more than his underwear, she led him toward the container door, ushering him inside. Colin and Furgus helped her place the four unconscious guards inside as well, before closing the door and locking it.

She waved Colin and Furgus off, completing her mission the same way she had every time she took something from him, leaving her calling card.

"Let's be seeing how you like spending hours in the darkness, lad. Then, you can be explaining to the Balkan how you let a wee lass escape you," she said, affixing the plant to the metal cage. Its bright green petals representing Ireland, its people. She smiled, her fingers lightly brushing the shamrock, as a sound emerged from inside the container.

"What you say?" Ciara asked, as he mumbled something from inside the box, "A bit uncomfortable you be? Good," she told him, eliciting a gasp, as she collided with the man behind her, his arms wrapping tightly around her, as he covered her mouth and pulled her within the shadows of the docks storage containers.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dante whispered, his voice full of anger, his hands shaking, "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? They left you alone, Ciara. Alone. What if it was the Balkan waiting for you, huh?"

"I doona remember asking for your help, Dante. This is not the first time that I have gone after the Balkan. It willna be the last, either," she shouted, her voice muffled, as Dante covered her mouth.

"Ssh, Did you hear that?" Dante said, softly, holding her against him, his lips near her ear.

"Are you daft, Yank? Let me go," she yelled, as Dante held her firmly against him. Every instinct in his body was telling him that something was off. He heard the soft ticking, his eyes widening, just before he heard the final click.

"Run," Dante shouted, pushing Ciara toward the water, propelling her forward, as the first explosion erupted behind them, sending the metal container flying into the air, before crashing back onto the docks in a mangled heap. The second explosion was so close, he could feel the flames breathing on his skin, as he leaped off the dock behind her. Ciara screamed, her body hitting the water, pulling her under, the weight of her clothing threatening to keep her beneath.

She broke the surface, the dock's debris floating atop the water, the heat of the fire sending her back under. She struggled to breath, her lungs burning with the pressure, her body heavy and her head starting to spin. She panicked, her mouth opening to steal a breath, struggled as she felt the water enter her lungs and then the cold. She felt arms reach for her, pulling her from the murky water. The blackness surrounding her. Her body felt too heavy, she was exhausted. She stopped struggling, letting the blackness consume her.

* * *

"Is it done?" the man asked, with a foreign accent, his voice cold, emotionless.

"Aye, sir. Tis done. But, Donal and the others, was it necessary?" the man asked, still weak-kneed, his body shaking from the adrenaline, from being so close to the smell of death.

"Are you questioning my orders, laddie?" the man asked, his tone menacing.

"No, Sir. The job is finished just as you ordered," the lad told him, knowing when to shut his mouth. The Balkan was ruthless. He did not have a fondness for those that questioned his directives, that went against his orders.

"Where is the girl?" the Balkan asked, waiting to hear that she escaped. He timed the bomb perfectly, a few extra seconds to enable her escape, using the lass as bait and eliminating his inept guards in one fell swoop.

"Some guy showed up right before the explosion. He grabbed her. It was like he knew it was going to happen, sir. He pushed her into the water and followed her. Do you think that they are both dead?" the man asked, from a boat a safe distance away, scanning the water for any sign of bodies.

"She's not dead. Find out who he is. This bodyguard of hers. You will find your payment in the usual spot. I'll expect an update by tomorrow morning. Don't let me down. I'd really hate to find another watchman for her."

"Understood. I'll have the information by morning," the lad said, disconnecting the prepaid phone and discarding it in a nearby trash bin. He would pick up his payment, retrieve the new prepaid phone that the Balkan left and wait for his call. In the meantime, he needed to find the girl, gather the information on this foreigner and ensure that he reported back to the Balkan on time. It was a dangerous job, but it paid very well, the money outweighing the danger. The Balkan was not one to be crossed, as Donal O'Ryan learned.

The man picked up his walkie-talkie, pressing a button and speaking to his contact on the other side, "They're gone. We've lost them in the explosion," he said, his voice controlled, as he heard the expletives from the man on the other end.

"You lost them? Well, you bloody well, find them. If one hair is out of place on her head, I will personally hold you responsible. Do you understand me, mate?"

"Yes, sir. What about the man with her?"

"Dante Falconeri. He's a police officer from the states. If the Balkan tries to go anywhere near her, the bloke will protect her. Trained with the best, better than some of the agents at Interpol. The Balkan won't even see him coming."

"We'll keep looking for him and the girl. Anything else, sir?" the lad asked, mentally jotting down Dante's name in his head.

"Just find them," Robert Scorpio, answered, wanting to make sure that Ciara arrived home safely.

* * *

"Come on, breathe, Ciara," she heard from a panicked voice, the pressure in her chest increasing, as she coughed, expelling the water from her lungs, as she felt the hand at her back, hitting her, forcing every drop from her chest.

"That's it, baby. Slow and easy," Dante told her, as she gasped for air, her back hitting the ground beneath her.

God it was cold, Dante thought. His clothes soaked from the water, frozen to his skin from the cold weather, the icy chill felt deep in his bones. He shivered, waiting for the last of the water to exit her lungs and the blue color to leave her cheeks and lips. She curled into a ball on the ground, her body shuddering from the cold.

Dante gathered her against him, lifting her, and holding her against him. He needed to find them shelter and fast, the cold seeping too quickly inside, the threat of pneumonia sinking in.

Nothing but warehouses, Dante thought, as he cradled her against him. The buildings empty, more than likely without heat. He continued on, away from the urban district, his feet moving past the concrete roads and reaching graveled paths. He needed a place nearby, some building where he could start a fire, find some blankets. He spied a path up ahead, forcing his body to move, every muscle aching from the cold, his chest feeling compressed. An old farmhouse stood at the end of the lane, its cobblestone walls covered with patches of moss, its roof thatched, but sturdy. No car was parked in the driveway, no animals stabled on the grounds. The building appeared to be abandoned.

Dante placed Ciara against the door, nearly collapsing, as the cold winds beat upon his chest, the pressure against him building. He coughed, feeling the water in his lungs, the exhaustion threatening.

Come on, Dante. You can do this, he told himself, searching the ground for something to break in. He spied a rock, lifting it, his hand ready to break the window, when he heard her voice.

"Did you look for a key?" Ciara whispered, her voice raspy and strained from the effort to speak.

"A key? Because everyone just leaves them sitting around?" Dante exclaimed in disbelief.

"A fake rock, maybe a window ledge, somewhere close," Ciara told him, clutching her chest.

Dante shook his head, thinking that this was a wasted effort. How stupid would people be to leave a key hidden in such a place? He found the key exactly where Ciara said it would be, high atop the window ledge, within reach of the door. He quickly inserted it in the door, releasing the lock and pushing it open. Cautiously, he listened for any sign of life, and assured that there were none, he turned to Ciara, scooping her into his arms and carrying her into the house.

He placed her upon the sofa, thanking God that this family had a fireplace. He reached for the wood, placing the logs inside and gathering the kindling to lay atop it and lighting the fire. He used the poker, stoking the flames, waiting for the heat to fill the room, before placing the wire guard in front of the fireplace, ensuring the logs would stay within.

He moved back toward the sofa, coughing, discounting his aches and pains, as he focused on Ciara. She was shivering uncontrollably, her face pale and her body covered in a sheen of perspiration.

Dante knew that he needed to get them warm. He went in search of the bedroom, finding one on the first floor and retrieving pillows and several warm blankets. He placed them on the floor in front of the hearth and lifted Ciara, setting her atop a few of the blankets.

It wasn't enough, she was still shuddering. Body heat, Dante thought, stripping his clothes from his body and tossing them across the room. Ciara was covered in black from head to toe, her upper body hidden beneath a turtleneck and heavy sweater. He removed both, reaching behind her back, his fingers unsnapping her bra and pulling the straps down her arms, gathering the black lace and throwing it onto his pile of clothes. He pulled the shoes from her feet, followed by sodden socks, then reached for her pants, unbuttoning them and pulling the wet fabric from her skin, her underwear moving with it. She was completely bare, her pale skin, glowing beneath the firelight, her eyes closed.

Dante gathered her into his arms, his body feeling a jolt of ice water course through him, as he pressed her body against his. Her wrapped his arms around her tightly, reaching for the blankets and pulling the heavy material on top of them. The heat from his body slowly penetrated hers, her shivers lessening, as her normal temperature returned. When her shivers ceased, he gave into his exhaustion, his head resting against a pillow, as he held her tightly to his chest, his eyes drifting closed and sleep overtaking him.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 6

A Dream is Just a Dream

_Ciara could feel the fire, its flames so near, her hands felt its searing touch. Everywhere she looked darkness surrounded her, its sweeping fog, enveloping all objects in its path. Her arms felt heavy, her legs immobile, as both struggled to move. The flames were practically upon her, their burning fire casting an eerie glow, the bright orange light illuminating the darkness like a spotlight. _

_She could see the metal freight container in front of her, the woman issuing orders to the men, while hidden between the dock's storage units. She watched the men take out the guards, one by one, until only the last remained conscious. She could hear the rattle of the keys, their sound optimized, as if next to her ear. _

_Then, it was open. The darkness within lit dimly with the glow from the woman's flashlight. Ciara watched her reach inside, blindly, searching for something in the darkness. She expelled a breath, not even aware that she was holding it, a small gasp from her lips. _

_Out of the darkness, a small child appeared, her angelic face with features unclear. The little girl clasped something in her hand behind her, looking past the men dressed in black and out toward the edge of the water where Ciara stood motionless. An icy chill spread throughout Ciara's body, as the child beckoned her, drawing her toward the darkness._

_Feet that were only seconds before immobile, seemed to float toward the container, moving rapidly, until she stood only a few feet away. _

_A dream. Its just a Dream, Ciara chanted to herself, suddenly afraid of the black night that surrounded the young lass. _

_It reached out to Ciara, its menacing talons pulling her in, its touch bitter as the cold. _

_It devoured her, causing her to disappear within._

_She heard whispering, a child's soothing voice, as her eyes attempted to adjust to the darkness. A soft, orange glow emanated from the far corner where two children lay huddled together. The light protecting the girls from the darkness._

_Ciara listened, their voices eerily familiar, their murmurs triggering a faint memory. She moved closer, still hidden in the darkness, clutching her hand to her chest. _

"_Where did they take you?" the little girl asked, as she lay her head on her friend's chest, feeling the reassuring stroke of a hand brushing through her hair._

"_I doona know. The light hurt something fierce. Just as quickly, it was gone. They took away me hood, but covered me eyes. They gave me food and water to put in me belly. Washed me and put new clothes on me back. And you?"_

"_Me too. But, where are the others?" she asked timidly, the only voices in the darkness their own._

"_I doona know. Were you alone in this place where they took you?"_

"_I think so. I'm scared. Why aren't the others back?"_

"_Doona fash yourself, Nee," she answered, just as her Mammy would say, sitting in front of the hearth, darning Da's socks, "I be watching over you."_

"_You know that, don'tcha, Lulu," the lass said, turning in Ciara's direction._

_Lulu? The name whispered softly, as Ciara watched, feeling confused and helpless, unable to comprehend what was happening. _

_She heard the rattle of the chains, felt the lass's shaking, as if it were her own. _

_The fear gripped her, shrouding her arms and her legs, the flames licking at her body._

_Nooooo! She cried, her voice silenced, as the door was thrust open and a painful, blinding light spilled into the black mass within. _

_Hide, Ciara whispered, as the girls faded in the darkness, leaving Ciara alone, as she watched a shadowy figure emerge, blocking part of the light._

_It is just a dream, Ciara reminded herself, as her heart beat faster and her skin became clammy. She looked down at her hands, the small dainty palm and the fingers of a child. Her eyes widening, her head shaking in disbelief, she watched the man approach, the fear immobilizing her._

_Lulu Spencer, a man's voice bellowed, calling her from the darkness, reaching for her with hands that were rough and calloused. _

_That's not me, Ciara cried out, struggling, her head turning toward the back of the container where the girls once huddled. Stay out of sight, Ciara thought, wanting to protect them. Where did they go? The container wasn't that large, she should see their shadowy figures, hear their ragged breathing._

"_I'm not afraid of you," Ciara told the man, surprised to see her trembling hands. Ciara was trained in combat, she could take him, snap the life from him with one flick of her wrist. So, why was she suddenly shaking, her mind racing frantically, perspiration dotting her forehead. _

_She could feel the sharp object on one of his hand's scratch at her skin, its jagged metal breaking the tender flesh, leaving a permanent mark._

_Things were melding together, the girl and Ciara, becoming one, as she didn't understand the vision in front of her. Why was everything so familiar? Why was she so frightened?_

_She saw the young girl dig her heels into the floor, one hand clutching the inside of the metal storage container, felt the pain, as a fingernail tore, but it was all in vain, his strength much greater than hers. _

_Then, she was standing, outside the container, as the man picked up the little girl, flailing limbs and all and walked toward another man at the end of the dock._

"_Do as your told, child and no harm will be coming to you," the man yelled. _

"_Let her be. You doona need to do this. Just let her go," Ciara shouted, the terror gripping tightly, as she looked frantically around her for help. Where were Furgus, Colin, Shane or Ranulf? Where was Dante?_

"_They willna help you. You have to remember," Ciara heard from behind her, suddenly afraid to turn._

"_No. I willna. I doona want to know," Ciara cried out, stubborn in her refusal. _

_She turned to see the small child with light auburn hair, a sad look upon her face, as a ticking sounded louder and louder._

"_I be watching you. Doona be afraid."_

"_The bomb," Ciara suddenly recalled, "You need to run!" Ciara screamed, tears running down her face._

"_Remember who you be, lass."_

"_GET OUT!" Ciara yelled, as the container exploded and her hands instinctively covered her eyes. She was so close, she should be dead, she thought, turning to see the man with the child, oblivious to the event unfolding around him. She turned back to the container, its hull intact, staring at the lass who stood amidst the flames._

"_Remember," the lass told Ciara, her hand pointing to the wee child at the man's side and like a prod to her side, Ciara complied._

"_Da?" Ciara cried out, recognizing the man who stood alongside the little girl._

"_You said no harm would come to the lass. What is this?" she heard Seamus say, looking down at the blood that trickled over the child's hand. _

"_Where be the Irish lass?" he demanded, with auburn hair and a shaggy beard, clutching the frightened girl at his side, "Where be the other?"_

"_The deal changed. They be escorting you away now, Seamus. Doona think to be backing out now. The Balkan doona like it when you disobey him. Deliver the wee lass at daybreak. The location as previously discussed. Agreed? Do as you be told and your own lass will be in her mammy's arms before morn."_

_Ciara stood by watching the scene in disbelief, confused and angry. _

_What other lass? _

_She was his wee lass, she thought watching his angry look focused on the man walking away. _

"_Da, I doona understand. I be here, right here," she pointed to the frightened little girl at his side."_

"_The deal be for Ciara. Where is the lass?" Seamus shouted to the man's retreating back, as the child sobbed at his side, "Hush, wee lass. All will be well. I promise."_

"_Tell him," Ciara told the little girl, who was lifted into Seamus' arms and held gently against his shoulders. The little girl looked directly at Ciara, her wild eyes revealing her fright, as Ciara screamed at her, "Tell him who you be. Ciara, you're his wee lass. Tell him," she shouted, frantic. _

"_He's not my father," the little girl whispered, looking up at Ciara, with hazel eyes. _

"_This be some kind of trickery. We be the same. He's our Da," Ciara shouted, her shaking head, negating everything the girl told her._

_The flames were moving across the docks, the heat coming closer and closer, the sweat pouring off her body, as the tears fell upon her face, "I'm Ciara. Da, I'm here, right here," she sobbed, rushing toward him. Why was he leaving? Couldn't he see what was right in front of his eyes? _

"_He's not our father. Look at him, Lulu. We do not belong here. I want to go home. Please," the little girl begged, looking at Ciara._

"_No. I willna believe your foolery. What you say is not true. Doona leave me. Da!" Ciara cried out, her body shaking, as she felt a push from behind, heard a familiar voice inside her head, telling her to run and then felt the cold pull of the water dragging her under. Then, blackness and all was silent._

…_..._

"Noooo!" Ciara cried out, her eyes opening in terror, as Dante sponged her forehead with a small cloth, attempting to cool her fevered skin.

She was hot to the touch, her body sweating profusely, her shivers causing her to toss and turn upon the couch. Her hands reached out to him, grasping at his arms and clinging tightly, "Please, " she said, sitting upright, staring sightlessly past Dante, trapped inside her nightmare, "Please, don't leave me!"

"I'm not going anywhere," Dante told her kneeling beside her, clothed in only his boxer briefs. He pulled the covers snugly around her, tucking her in, trying to stop the shivers that racked her body.

"I want to go home. Where's Daddy? I am frightened," Ciara said delirious, her voice soft, like that of a child, while her head thrashed left and right, all traces of her Irish accent missing.

Dante listened, concern evident in his every gesture, as he watched over her, wiped her brow with the cool cloth and whispered reassuring words. Her words were hers, yet they were not. Her voice and yet another.

"Who scares you?" Dante said softly, continuing to sponge the perspiration from her brow.

"No!" the timid voice answered, eyes moving frantically behind her eyelids, her hands clinging to his arm."

"Talk to me, Ciara. Tell me," Dante asked, pressing his lips to the side of her forehead, as her body shuddered and her nails dug painfully into the skin of his arm.

"Make the monsters go away, please," she whispered, as Dante looked down, her eyes glassy and cheeks flushed.

"I promise, honey. Every one," he answered, as she gave in to the exhaustion and her eyes closed once more, enclosing her in darkness.

"Ciara?" Dante whispered, lifting her and placing her against his chest, "Honey?," he asked her, his hand smoothing the strands of hair from her face with gentle strokes.

"You rest easy. I'll be right here when you wake up. I promise."

* * *

Ciara awoke to the feel of hard muscle beneath her fingertips, her breasts pressed against a solid wall of granite, that rose and fell with each breath. His arms were wrapped gently around her, one resting on her back, his fingers stroking her skin, while the other she felt upon her right buttock.

Where the hell are we?" she wondered in confusion, her eyes canvassing the room and noticing the hearth, its embers nearly burned out.

The mission.

Nothing was as Ciara expected. Her source told her there were eight children in all. But, there was only one. So, where were the others?

Where were the others? Ciara thought, the words sounding eerily familiar, as images of her dream started to appear. Why was Dante here? The docks. He was there. The explosion. If hadn't-

She cringed at the thought, lifting her head from Dante's chest. The memory of the fire, pulling images from the back of her mind, as she tried desperately to dispel the pictures forming, the words echoing inside her head.

Nothing made sense. The dream. Da. Nothing at all.

Ciara didn't even realize the tears were streaming down her face, until she felt Dante's thumb wipe them from her face and kiss the top of her head. His hand stroked the back of her head, his fingers brushing through her hair with long, gentle strokes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dante asked her softly, continuing to reassure her with his touch, as she once again rested her head against his chest.

Ciara shook her head, her mind somewhere else, as her fingers teased the skin of his chest, rubbed the nipple beneath her finger.

Dante exhaled, using his hands to grasp Ciara's shoulders, hauling her up further on his chest, as he scooted back against the arm of the couch.

Ciara leaned over him, her body resting atop his, her troubled eyes gazing down at him, as her hand was drawn to the side of his head. She ran her hand through his dark hair, the strands soft to the touch and gasped, as Dante's head turned slightly, his lips brushing against the palm of her hand.

"Tell me. I'm a good listener," Dante smiled.

"I doona have anything to say," Ciara answered, turning her gaze from his.

"We both know that is not the truth," Dante replied, his hand brushing her cheek, "I was here with you all night. Tell me about the dream."

"I doona want to talk about it, so why keep kicking a dead horse," Ciara told him, with eyes angry and frightened.

"I don't believe that. I heard you in your sleep. I know what troubles you."

"You know. You doona know, Dante. You cannot," she whispered.

"Talk to me. Make me understand."

"I doona want to talk about it," she yelled, pulling herself from Dante's arms, frustrated as she looked down at her nude body draped over his.

"Where be me clothes?"

"Over there," Dante answered, pointing to chair, as she walked toward them. His eyes focused on every inch of her backside, on the sexy sway of her hips. Her clothes were draped over the back of the chair, her pants still damp to the touch.

"I need something to wear," Ciara told him, turning, noticing his narrowed eyes, their darkening color.

He had never wanted anything so much in his life. But, now wasn't the time.

Dante threw the covers off, and sat up on the couch, his hands running alongside his head in frustration.

"You can trust me. You know that don't you," Dante promised, his eyes revealing every heartfelt emotion, "I would never let anything happen to you."

"I willna fall for it, Yank," Ciara said, arms folded, eyes determined.

"What are you so afraid of ?" Dante questioned her, "Not the Balkan. You face him head-on, careless with your safety. So, what? Tell me, baby."

"I'm not afeared of anything. I can take care of meself. It's just a dream. Nothing more," Ciara answered, trying to quiet the voice in her head that denied it.

"If it's just a dream, then there isn't any harm in telling me. I want to help, honey. Let me. Help me to protect you from the monsters."

"What did you say?" Ciara asked him, the word triggering a shadowy figure. Only this image was not frightening. It's voice was warm and soothing, like a hot toddy on a cold morning. An image of a giggling lass, moving slowly through a bedroom, a baseball bat in hand, as if ready to do battle.

The memory was so sharp, so clear, that Ciara looked down at her hands, expecting to see the bat gripped in her hands. Feckin A. What was happening? She'd never played American baseball in her life. She'd never been to America. Who was the man in her dreams? His curly blond hair so familiar, that if she reached with her fingers and touched the curls, she knew they would be soft to the touch. And cigar smoke. The smell called to her, a man's laughter, as he placed it against his lips.

She hated smoking of any kind. So, why did she the smell of that cigar bring a smile to her lips and tears to her eyes.

"You're remembering, aren't you?" Dante asked her, standing and walking toward her.

"Keep your distance, Yank. I willna fall for your charms again," Ciara told him, adamantly, her hands in front of her to block his approach.

"Tell me about the dream, baby. You remember her, don't you?"

"A dream is just a dream. I doona believe. She is not me," Ciara cried, turning her back to Dante, wiping the tears from her eyes, "Me name is Ciara Niamh Kelly. Me Da is Seamus Angus Kelly. I be born in Cork County, twenty-six years ago on this coming Saturday. I am not who she says. It is just a dream."

"Dreams have a way of telling us the truth. Even when we may not want to hear it," Dante told her, placing his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him, "But, you have to listen. Not for your family, or me, or anyone else. For you. Listen to the voice inside your head. She's trying to tell you what happened all those years ago.

"I doona want to listen. They be lies. Every one of them," Ciara shouted.

"You're afraid. The answers that you have been searching for staring you back in the face."

"I'm not looking for fecking answers, Dante. And, I'm definitely not afeared."

"Liar. Your arms are shaking," Dante answered, reaching for her hands, "your hands trembling. It's ok. No matter what happens, no matter the truth that is uncovered. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me, Cia-

"Your stuck with me, Lulu Spencer," Dante whispered, his lips pressed against the side of her neck, his arms holding her steady in his grip.

"Trickery. Did you put something in me drink? Put thoughts in me head, Dante. Me name is Ciara. I will say it until I am blue in the face, or you plant your arse on a fecking plane and leave."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you. Then, you could pretend none of this existed, that we never happened. You could go on playing your fucking games with the Balkan, taunting him and getting a thrill from the chase," Dante told her, angry, slowly inching her back against the wall, "What happens when he realizes that you know the truth, baby? Who will protect you, Lulu?"

"Me name is Ciara. Not Lulu. So, fecking tell me who she is, Dante. What does she mean to you? Who the feck are you?"

"Baby, you know who I am. I came here to protect you, that's the honest truth. You mean the world to me."

"Stop calling me that. I'm not your girlfriend. Me name is Ciara. I'm not her. I'm not," Ciara told him, her fists pounding against his chest, the tears falling down her face.

"You are everything he said you would be. And, so much more," Dante told her, brushing the tears from her face.

"You are brave. Terrifying in your fearlessness. Beautiful and sexy. You set me on fire with a look. And your voice? Baby, it's like no other craving I've ever felt. And your body? God, woman, the way you move, the look on your face when we make love-

"No, I willna let you do this. I willna hear your lies," she screamed, pushing him away, "I be needing you to leave, Yank."

"Go!" she shouted, pointing at the door.

"No!" Dante replied, standing his ground, "You are not ready to see the truth. I get that. The fear of not knowing who you are and how everything you've been told is one fat lie. I know!" Dante shouted back, his chest heaving with his emotions.

"I spent my entire life believing that my father was nothing but a fleeting moment in my mother's past. A one-night stand. A nobody."

"I doona want to hear," she told him, covering her ears.

"Well, you're going to, dammit. Ciara, Lulu, whatever the hell you want me to call you, I'm not going anywhere! I spent most of my life searching for my father, wondering if it was the coach of my baseball team, the barber down the street, the man that helped my mother with the groceries. Every man that took the slightest interest in her, I watched. Did he have the same eyes? Did we smile the same? Did we have the same damn dimples? All of it, baby."

"I doona understand. Why are you telling-"

"Then, I showed up in Port Charles. I was ordered to take down the biggest freaking mobster on the Eastern Seaboard. And, then after gathering all of the evidence and nearly taking him down, I find out that the bastard is my father."

"I understand, baby. I do, more than anyone. But, like it or not, Lulu. You have to face it. A dream may be just a dream, but honey, the reality is you were not born Ciara Kelly. You are not Irish by birth. You are Lulu Spencer. Those monsters that you are fighting, some of them are your own. You have to face them, Lulu. But, you won't be alone. I'll be here. Right here."

Ciara placed her head on Dante's chest, finding the words difficult to sink in. Lies. Every word. But, who did she believe. What truth was her reality? If she wasn't Ciara, the girl that she had grown up as, the culture that she had embraced, the family that she had cultivated, then who was she? She couldn't be Lulu Spencer. She didn't know a fecking thing about her. So, if she wasn't Ciara and she wasn't Lulu, then who the feck was she.

"Ssh," Dante told her, hearing the sobbing against his chest, feeling the wet tears upon his skin. His hand rubbed the back of her head, holding her close, "The only thing that matters is we do this together, baby. Everything else is just details. We'll figure it out. Together. I promise."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 7

Dante Falconeri gathered what few belongings they had, straightening the living room, double-checking and then checking again to ensure that the owners would not realize that anyone had been in the house. Dante raked his fingers through his hair, revealing his frustration. He was anxious to leave, to find out what else Ciara remembered about her time as Lulu Spencer.

So many pieces of the puzzle did not fit. If the Balkan knew that she had assumed the Irish lass's identity, then why was Ciara able to move about freely. Why hadn't he revealed the truth to her years earlier? Was her family in Ireland aware of who she was? Did Ciara's father, Seamus Kelly, knowingly abduct the child of an international spy? And if the Balkan did indeed know that Ciara Kelly was in fact, Lulu Spencer, where was the real Irish lass? Was she even still amongst the living?

All of these questions and thoughts plagued Dante's mind, the answers out of reach, as he tried to analyze the Balkan's motives and gauge his next move. His head was spinning, his thoughts like ping pongs in his head, endlessly trapped, as the paddles hit back and forth.

Jesus, he was a detective for Christ's sake, not once in all the cases he had worked on, had he been so completely rattled that he questioned his actions, that he triple-checked everything. Being a cop was second nature to him and he always instinctively knew the next course of action. Until now.

"Are you ready? I need to contact Lucky and let him know what we've learned," Dante told her, as she stood with her hands on her hips, glaring back at him.

"I doona answer to you," Ciara told him, sparks shooting from her eyes, as her ire increased by the second, "Your interference has made a muck of my plans. They'll be wanting to know where I am."

"Your friends?" Dante answered, "If they're so worried about you, where the hell are they, Lulu?"

"I told you, Yank. The name is Ciara. I'll not be answering to any other," she answered, as Dante moved closer.

"Answer, or don't answer, CIARA," Dante said, "it doesn't change who you are. You'll have to face it sooner, or later. Aren't you curious? Don't you want to know your family?"

"I got all the family I need. My real family, Yank, and I doona mean your Spencer's," Ciara replied, stubbornly, "Now, I doona have all day, time's awastin. You coming, or not?"

"Depends on where we're going?" Dante questioned her, feeling out of sorts. He wasn't used to taking the backseat and letting someone else lead. Ever since he'd joined the police academy, he'd always been a leader, striving to prove himself and his skills. The fact that Ciara, no Lulu, he thought, was taking the lead, was a bit unsettling. Yet, at the same time he admired the hell out of her. She was ballsy, he'd give her that. Stubborn too, but he was confident that he could reverse their roles soon enough.

"Our destination doona concern you, Yank," Ciara told him, walking toward the door, as Dante stood fuming, behind her, "Stay, or go. I doona care."

It didn't concern him?

Everything she did concerned him, he thought, his insides steaming.

Every breath she took. Every step her stubborn feet moved.

She didn't care, he thought completely riled.

Liar.

"Make no mistake, Ciara. From now on, everything you do concerns me. I will let you make the decisions for now, but if I see-"

"You will let me," Ciara answered, the smoke practically pouring from her ears, as she moved toward him, pointing her finger into his chest.

"Yes, Ciara, I will let you, for now," Dante answered, reaching for the hand whose finger was pressed against his chest, "But, if I think that you are in the slightest bit of danger, Ciara-"

"I doona need your help. I can take care of myself," Ciara said softly, as Dante held her hand within his grip.

"If I see you are threatened in any way, Ciara. I lead. Understood?" Dante informed her, not budging an inch.

"He won't find us. Not where we are going. You doona have to worry," Ciara replied.

"I'm not worried, Ciara," Dante answered, tracing the scar beneath her neck, "I won't let him anywhere near you. Now, promise me," Dante insisted, waiting for her to say the words.

"Jeezus, fine. I give you my word," Ciara told him, crossing her fingers behind her.

"I want to hear you say it, Ciara," Dante demanded, his posture rigid and his face hard like stone.

"Yes, I willna barrel ahead if you get a feeling of danger. Happy?" she informed him, a bit cocky.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" Dante told her, smiling, as she glared back at him.

"Gloating does not become you, Yank," Ciara replied, as Dante gently pushed her to the side, as he canvassed the exterior of the house. Confident that all was well, he looked toward the right, deducing that the lights of Dublin couldn't be more than a fifteen minute walk from where they stood. He reached for her hand and started to walk east, when he was abruptly pulled back.

"This way, Yank," she told him, as he answered with a stubborn look of his own.

"No, it's this way," Dante insisted, once again attempting to lead her in his direction.

"Just like a fecking Yank. In Ireland for all of five seconds and you already be thinking you know her every street. Dublin is this way," she pointed to the left, pulling Dante after her.

They walked up cobbled streets, keeping to the shadows, their footsteps silent with each step. Soon drops of rain pelted their skin, followed minutes later by heavy rainfall. They walked faster, the fields beside them soon replaced by stone cottages and even further turning into the stone facades of the local businesses.

"You still have not told me where we are going?" Dante asked her, walking alongside her, the rain continuing to fall, as his eyes constantly screened their surroundings, "Are you sure we are going in the right direction?"

"Yes. We will be there soon enough," she told him, slowing down, as they neared a stone cottage on the outskirts of Dublin. She was soaked to the skin, praying that the owner was home.

"This is it?" Dante questioned her, the rain causing his clothes to stick to his body, as his curiosity peaked. It didn't look like the kind of place that would harbor missing children, "It doesn't look at all like I expected."

"The meeting willna be here. We need to change," Ciara said, looking back at him, "I doona suppose you have an off button."

"Off button? Did you just tell me I talk too much?" Dante asked, in surprise.

"Not a word about who you think I be, understood?" Ciara ordered, waiting until Dante nodded in agreement. She knocked on the door, anxiously waiting for it to be opened.

"Mommy," Ciara cried out, hugging the petite, gray-haired woman in front of her.

"Och, child. Get outta the rain," she scolded, looking toward Ciara's guest with curiosity.

"You know better than to walk about Dublin in this rain, Ciara," her mother told her, embracing her and placing a kiss upon her forehead, "Not that I doona enjoy seeing your blessed face. I missed you, my angel."

"I missed you too, Mommy."

Dante watched the two women sit side by side, their hands touching, the tears marking their faces, as they conversed on the couch. Each one seemed to memorize the movements of the other, storing them until future visits. He smiled thinking of his own mother back in Bensonhurst whom he had not spoken with since he and Lucky arrived in Ireland, and he made a mental note to check in with her as soon as he returned to the pub.

"Ciara, angel. I was worried. Shane rang me that he doona know where you be. I doona like this, Ciara." her mother told her, the agony written on her face.

"Doona fret, Mommy. Shane doona need to be making you worry. You see me. I am fine," Ciara answered, as her mother looked at her, frowning.

"And you, Yank. What is it you call yourself?"

"I'm Dante. Dante Falconeri, ma'am," he answered, smiling.

"He thinks he is my bodyguard, Mommy," Ciara answered, in irritation.

"Good. You be needing one, Ciara. Yank, or no, I thank you," Ciara's mother told Dante, sending him a welcoming glance, "Ciara willna admit it, but she dances a bit too closely to the fire. Been burned more than once, she has," her mother stated, looking toward Ciara's scars.

"I intend to make sure that doesn't happen again, Ma'am," Dante replied, smiling, reassuringly.

"Please, call me, Moira."

"Moira, pleased to meet you. You have a very beautiful daughter. You must be very proud," Dante told her.

"That I be. Are you tied to anyone, Dante?" Ciara's mother asked.

"Mommy?" Ciara replied, placing her hands on her hips, and revealing a scowl.

"What? I doona get to hope to see you married, my angel. To see you hold your own lil ones in your arms."

"No, Mommy, when the man in question be a Yank!" Ciara exploded, turning to Dante, "He needs some clothes. Shane and Ranulf are waiting."

"At that club?" her mother answered, sullenly.

"It is safe, Mommy. The Underground is the perfect place to hide. Doona worry," Ciara said, kissing her mother on the top of her head, "Now, clothe him, please, Mommy."

"He looks handsome enough," Ciara's mother replied, as if Dante were not in the room, "I be thinking Kiernan's clothes will fit him."

"What's wrong with the clothes I have on?" Dante questioned Ciara, who grinned back at him, "You willna get in wearing those," Ciara chided him, "The Underground is highly selective, Yank."

"Well, I'm a pretty sexy guy," Dante fired back with a grin.

"You think so," Ciara answered, smiling, "If you were not going with me. Angus wouldna let you in."

Angus, Dante thought, as Ciara's mother brought him a pair of jeans and a black shirt. The jeans were an inch too long and the black tee shirt molded to his upper body, causing him to pull at the fabric and will it to stretch.

"Oh my," Ciara said aloud, standing still, as she took in Dante's appearance. The shirt fit him perfectly, the black cotton stretching across his chest and revealing the muscles beneath.

"It's too tight," Dante answered, pulling at the shirt.

"Doona fash yourself. It fits you perfectly," Ciara told him, reaching for the shirt and running her hands over the sides. She moved her hands upward, feeling every inhaled breath that Dante took, before stopping at the collar and giving it a yank. The fabric tore slightly and Dante let out a breath of air, as Ciara grinned.

"Not that I haven't thought about you tearing my clothes off, but the shirt wasn't that tight," Dante exclaimed, "So, what kind of place is The Underground?"

"Techno, with gyrating tunes that will move your feet. They have the best mixer in Dublin," Ciara told him with a grin, "But you doona need to worry. This early, no one is about."

"It's a front," Dante realized, watching Ciara's face.

"You have no idea, Yank. None at all," she answered, with a grin.

Ten minutes later, Ciara led Dante toward a red-brick building. The building could have passed as any of the brownstones in Port Charles, but this one had a black-iron railing that lined the front of the building. Metal points spiked, led them down narrow steps, flanked by concrete walls. Down into the very depths of hell, Dante thought, as they came upon a wooden door, stained red, with a slat in the middle. Ciara banged on the door with her fist, waiting. The slat opened.

"Who goes there?" the man asked her, with a thick accent, his beady eyes peering through the opening in the door.

"Ciara," she whispered, as Dante heard the rattle of the locks and stood closely at Ciara's side. Until he knew whether the man were friend, or foe, he would stick to Ciara like glue.

"The Yank doona be on the list, Ciara," the man informed her, his stone-faced expression giving away nothing, as he looked over Dante. He was a hulking, brute of a man, much taller than Dante and nearly twice his girth.

"Well, add him, Angus," Ciara answered, pushing her way inside,"Are you coming, Yank? I doona have all day."

Dante followed Ciara inside, moved past the guard at the door, whose eyes revealed his dislike and glanced around at his surroundings.

The club was silent, the strobe lights above turned off, the mixing booth silent. It was a fairly decent-sized space for a bar, Dante thought. Not that he'd ever been in this type of place. He could only imagine how packed it would become when the neon lights of the club pulsated throughout and the room was filled with sweating bodies gyrating to the beats of the DJ mixer. Techno music, Dante cringed. Definitely not his "cup of tea," he laughed softly.

"Do you find me amusing?" Ciara asked him, turning to hear his chuckle.

"Every second, Ciara. And beautiful. Sexy as hell, too," Dante replied, with a grin.

"I doona have time for your foolery, Yank. We have work to do," she told him, leading him toward the back of the club.

"I wouldn't say it if it weren't the truth, Ciara," Dante answered, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the hallway, "Where are we going?"

"You'll see soon enough, Yank," Ciara informed him, opening a door with stairs. They seemed to lead down to a cellar of sorts. The musty smell at the bottom assaulting Dante's nose. It really was the depths of hell, he thought, as Ciara moved forward, down the steps and Dante followed.

The air was damp, the shelves at the bottom of the stairs holding all shapes and sizes of bottles and jars, with ingredients that he had no desire to know. One jar seemed to draw him in, its contents floating in a murky bath. Were those feet?

"This way, Yank," Ciara instructed him, as he moved mechanically, his eyes darting to the contents of the jars around him.

"What the hell is this?" Dante asked her, a grotesque look upon his face.

"The Underground stores some of its late-night fare in the cellar. The weather provides a cool environment for storage."

"Remind me not to eat anything in this place," Dante answered, in disgust.

"Afeared are you, Yank? Irish fare has an exceptional taste. It's not for the faint of heart."

"I'm not afraid, Ciara. I just like to know what I put in my mouth before I eat it," Dante told her, his eyes widening at each of the jars stored on the shelves, "What's in there? That's not going anywhere near my stomach."

"Just wait til you try the Haggis," Ciara told him, giggling.

"No way. Not happening. Sheep's intestines. Isn't that Scottish?" Dante declared, cringing at the very thought.

"Doona worry, Yank. The Underground willna serve that here," she answered, stopping in front of a padlocked door, "Most Irish dishes are made of lamb and sausages."

She inserted a key and pushed the door open, the blinding light from the other side, causing Dante's eyes to squint.

When he opened them he was surprised to see the modern hallway with white walls and a hard surface that seemed to stretch for miles.

"Just a few more minutes, "Ciara told him, as she led him toward a massive door with a sign posted on the front.

IPAEC Personnel Only: Scan ID Required Beyond Security Checkpoint.

Scan Identification? IPAEC?

What the hell was this place?

To the right of the door was a box, not more than a cigarette carton in size. In the middle was a single sheet of glass, oval in size and not bigger than the size of your thumb.

"I think I saw something like this in one of those sci-fi movies, Men in Black, I think," Dante laughed, as he noticed the red light above the door, "Let me guess retina scan?"

"Doona be silly, Yank. I've never seen that movie," Ciara told him, placing her thumb over the glass.

Dante heard the blare of one, short sound and suddenly the light turned from red to green and the door unlocked. He closed his eyes for just a millisecond, secretly expecting to see all sorts of crazy alien creatures flying and walking behind that door. What he saw instead blew his mind just the same.

The noise assaulted Dante's senses first, voices were shouting back and forth at each other, sounds of fingers tapping on keyboards, and machines humming with activity. Then his eyes took in the wall to wall desks, computers upon each and people everywhere. Sitting, standing, pushing past him. Some nodded in welcome at Ciara, while others sent a quick glance his way and then retreated back to whatever task was at hand.

In the back of the room, stretching from the left to the right side of the wall, was one massive screen that was divided in quarters. One displayed satellite images of some sort, with red dots marking a map of sorts. Another showcased images of children, all ages and sizes, with their basic information beneath. Height, weight, name, location of their disappearance and the clothing they were last seen in.

The last screen displayed several images of the same man, bald in one image, a matte of reddish hair in another. The computer seemed to be scanning images from the satellite in the first screen and looking for matches with the images of the man in the latter. Dante hadn't seen anything like it, even working Vice for two years in the Sex Crimes Unit of the NYPD.

It was like something straight from one of those cop shows on television, where the FBI swoops in to solve the local police's case and brings all of their high-tech gear with them.

"What is this place?" Dante asked, completely mesmerized by his surroundings.

"This is our headquarters. From here we are able to keep track of him. Stay one step ahead of him," Ciara told Dante, with a look of pride.

"This is how you find the children," Dante questioned her, looking down at the monitors that displayed up-to-the-minute traffic reports, news reports and scans of streets in not only Dublin, but all across Ireland, "This is unbelievable."

"A few years back we received a sizable donation. We doona have an Amber Alert here, Dante. Not like in your States. Here, we take care of our own," Ciara answered, gazing at the caos around her.

Dante was beaming with adoration, his eyes clearly displaying the pride he felt at her achievement, when the man approached her, his face ashen and his lips pursed in a thin line.

"What is it?" Ciara asked him, dreading the answer to come.

"We've found him, Ciara. I doona believe it, but we've actually found him."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 8

"Found who?" Dante asked, turning to look at Ciara, "The Balkan?"

Ciara ignored Dante, her focus on the young man who stood before her, "Are you sure? It's him?"

The young man looked at Dante and then turned his focus back to Ciara, who nodded to him that it was all right to continue. He gestured to a young woman behind him and the last screen lit with images.

A man's image appeared on the screen in front of them, Caucasian, with dark-blond hair and eyes that seemed to be blue one minute and tinted with green the next. He had a European flair about him, Ciara thought, strikingly handsome, with a playboy grin.

"Jerard Aloysius Jacks, The Balkan's right-hand man," Damien Spinelli told her, with dark-framed glasses and a trace of acne that marked his face. His appearance only heightened his geek persona. He looked as if he stepped off of the campus of the nearest secondary school, but he was light-year's ahead of the students in his class. The kid was a genius, Ciara thought, rambling off analysis after analysis on cases and cross-referencing the data with the downloaded satellite images.

"Born in Sydney, Australia, April 10th, 1969, moved to Alaska with his family as a child. He's a renowned playboy, OBSESSED with the thrill of the game and having fun," Spinelli told them, enunciating the word.

"Why does his name sound familiar?" Dante asked, trying to recollect where he had heard the name Jacks.

"You may have come across his lil brother, Jasper Jacks," Ciara answered.

"John Jasper Jacks, current residence, Port Charles, New York," Spinelli told them, "Married model Brenda Barrett in 1998. They run Barrett Jacks Couture and the J Jacks Metro Court. He is corporate raider by trade and father to three children. John Jr., age 10, Emebeth, age 7 and the littlest one, Annabelle Jane, age 3 1/2."

"So, what, this Jerry Jacks is the black sheep of the family. How does his brother feel about that?" Dante wondered, "It couldn't have been an easy life for him, being in the shadow of his brother."

"I doona see him struggling. The man has wealth, and the perfect little family. He tears corporations apart by day and then goes home to his perfect wife and children."

"He's the baby brother to an international criminal. You can't tell me that doesn't affect him. His brother must have aliases. Am I right?" Dante asked, looking toward Spinelli.

"Jerard Aloysius Jacks, A.K.A. John Jacks, Jr., John Jacks, Mr. Moreau, James Brosnan and James Craig. He is wanted by Interpol for criminal acts such as bombing, kidnapping, espionage and various affiliations with mercenaries, terrorists and crime syndicates internationally."

"A perfect right-hand for someone like the Balkan," Ciara answered, solemnly, reading Jerry Jack's bio.

"By the age of twenty-one he helped fund his family's business in Alaska with mob money, started laundering money for the Moreno's, then moved on to the Alcazar's. Several years ago, he was introduced to Andrei Karpov, a member of the Russian mafia. Together, they have dabbled secretly in corporate espionage, setting up dummy corporations and shell corporations for the purpose of evading government taxes, and hiding money made from illegal activities. Jerry Jacks acted as his enforcer, too. Karpov soon after introduced Mr. Jacks to the Balkan."

"A match made in heaven, "Dante replied, amazed at Jerry Jack's rap sheet. The guy was the devil in sheep's clothing. A ghost, who for all pretense and purpose, didn't really exist. And yet, this Spinelli had found him, "What exactly does Jerry Jacks do for the Balkan?"

"Enforcer, launderer, kidnapper, gun-for-hire, you name it," Spinelli shared with Dante, "The Balkan wants something done, Jerry Jacks delivers. And based on Mr. Jack's financial records he is paid very well for his services."

"And we now know his location?" Dante asked, looking toward Ciara, whose mouth was set into a self-satisfied grin.

"That we do. He is in Enniskerry, Ireland, just outside of Dublin. I canna wait to see the look on that man's face when we show up at that warehouse. He willna know what hit him," Ciara replied, smiling triumphantly.

"Are you out of your mind, Ciara? I smell a trap, don't you?" Dante said, completely flabbergasted that none of them could see it.

"Trap? You listen, Yank, we doona need your interfering. We have been dealing with the Balkan and his associates long before you stepped on our mother's shores. We'll continue to deal with him as we see fit. I'm still in charge here, Yank and doona you forget it."

"You're playing into his hands, Ciara. Into is FECKING hands," Dante shouted, his face becoming red with anger.

"Doona mock me, Yank. I willna have it," Ciara answered, pointing her finger at him, "I doona need you. Feck off. Go back to your states."

"No. It's not going to be that easy," Dante told her, reaching for her hand pressed against his chest and forcing it to her side, "You need me," Dante whispered, leaning in closer, "And the name is Dante. But, you goddamn already know that," he continued, his insides boiling.

"Spinelli," Dante said, his voice booming and causing Damien Spinelli to jump, "Is there someplace secure here? A place where we can talk privately," Dante asked, gripping Ciara tighter, as she struggled against him.

"Well, I don't know," Spinelli answered, looking to Ciara, whose eyes were twice as large, her chest rising rapidly and her face mottled with rage, "You want to talk to me?" Spinelli answered in worry, watching the tremors rack Dante's body.

"Ciara has quarters here. Down the hall, to your right," a young woman said, suddenly appearing at Spinelli's side and rolling her eyes at him.

"What?" Spinelli replied.

"Traitor," Ciara shouted, as Dante practically dragged Ciara toward the hallway.

"But, you'll need a code," the young woman yelled after Dante, pushing the spectacles up her nose and speaking to his retreating back.

"Winnifred, what do you think you are doing?" Spinelli asked, as she placed her hands on her hips and leveled a frustrated gaze his way.

"Are you daft, Damien? One more second in this room and the two of them were going to combust like potassium permanganate and glycerol. I don't expect you to get it. You're...you're Spinelli, Damien," she said in disgust, looking back down at the file she held in her hand.

Damien Spinelli had never met a more complicated woman in his life. His mind drifting back to a conversation he'd had with Ciara nearly a week ago. Winnifred was smart, like off-the-charts, mindspinning, challenge his every sensory and physiological response kind and she was pretty too. But, beyond that she was wrong for him in every way.

She had dark hair, the color of sable and eyes of the lightest blue. But, now those eyes fumed with irritation, the color turned a dark-grayish blue. She wore her hair in two tight braids, with bangs that gently swept her brow. She wasn't anything like his fantasy, Xena, Warrior Princess. Winnifred was too methodical, a bookworm, calm and steadfast, but Winnifred was her equal in intellect and cunning. Her ability to triangulate the position of their targets with no more than a compass and her keen sense of the surrounding environments, had amazed Spinelli on more than one occasion. Why shouldn't she be his Xena?

"Why not?" Spinelli thought out loud, as Winnifred looked up from her file in confusion.

"Did you hear a word I said, Damien? I told you, why not? I'm starting to side with Ciara, on this one. All men are daft? You would be lost, like sheep without a herder, moving blindly, without us by your side."

"You spoke about me? Um...I was thinking," Spinelli continued nervously, while Winnifred raised an eyebrow, "maybe we could grab lunch-"

"Did you see this?" Winnifred exclaimed, glancing down at the file in her hands, "The level of intelligence behind his activities is astounding."

"Who? Jerry Jax?" Spinelli answered.

"His ability to mimic a chameleon and adapt to his surroundings-well it just stimulates my pheromones. But, standing fifty feet from a camera in broad daylight. He had to have known. I could replicate all week the numerous ways that he could have avoided being photographed: hacking into the security companies mainframe, inactivating the camera, repositioning his movements, or simply covering his face, or the camera with black-"

"You think that Ciara's Yank is right, that he planned it?" Spinelli questioned Winnifred, reaching for the file.

"It certainly wouldn't be the first time that the Balkan has tried to ensnare Ciara," Winnifred answered, moving toward her computer and punching a sequence of numbers. Soon the screen lit up and Winnifred navigated to a satellite transmission that only earlier was deduced as their target's newest meeting place.

"The original transmission led us to believe that our target will be positioned here, "Winnifred told Spinelli, pointing to a warehouse on the West side of Enniskerry, surrounded by fields and a few outcroppings of smaller buildings that stretched for miles, "It will be difficult to position ourselves effectively."

"You think that he'll see us coming?" Damien Spinelli questioned, leaning over the back of her chair. He could smell the scent of vanilla wafting from her hair, his hands shaking at his side, as his nostrils flared. He could only imagine the chemical reaction they would create if they moved closer.

"Difficult, but not impossible," Winnifred replied, turning abruptly and eliciting a soft gasp, as their lips remained stationary, a mere few inches apart,"I'm hungry, Damien," Winnifred exclaimed, practically leaping from her seat and dragging him after her.

"I too, feel the pangs of hunger, Winnifred. I could use a turkey on wheat," Spinelli answered, as Winnifred propelled him toward the nearest supply closet and thrust him inside.

"Um, Winnifred, I thought that you said you were hungry?" Spinelli questioned, as she locked them inside and ripped the first two buttons off of his shirt. Spinelli backed slowly toward the wall, as she continued to move toward him, a lioness on the prowl. She threw him against the wall, her hands positioned on either side of him. Her lips were everywhere, Spinelli thought, completely astonished by her reaction. He'd never been this chemically off-balance in his life.

"Is this Xena, Warrior enough, for you, Damien," Winnifred whispered, as Spinelli's eyes grew large. Holy Crap, Batman. Could she read minds too?

* * *

"I doona believe you. Let me be," Ciara fumed, struggling to free herself from the Yank's grip.

Dante pulled her against his side, moving her along the hallway and turning to the right, as the hallway neared it's end. A door stood in their way, with another of those boxes at its side. But, unlike the previous one that required a thumbprint to unlock the mechanism, this one had a series of letters much like a keyboard, the buttons forming a square.

"What's the code, Ciara?" Dante asked, his fingers hovering over the letters.

"I doona recall," Ciara answered, with a cocky grin, "Fecking figure it out yourself, Yank."

"Baby," Dante said, loud enough for any in the vicinity to hear, "If I have to deal with you out here, I will," Dante told her, grinding himself against her, pressing her up against the door.

She was out of breath. Her pulse beating rapidly and her eyes darting nervously up and down the hallway. It was vacant now, but that could change.

"You willna dare," she cried out, as Dante's hand reached underneath her sweater, gasping as he found her completely bare. His hand cupped her breast, teased her nipple until it hardened beneath his fingertips.

"Do you have any idea how much I have craved this?" Dante told her, leaning over and placing his mouth on the fabric of the sweater, directly over her breast. He suckled her, the moisture from his mouth and the friction from his lips, causing an ache to spread throughout her lower regions.

"The taste on my lips is like honey. Sweet and intoxicating," he said, the words becoming muffled, as his mouth widened, taking in more of her breast.

Ciara squirmed beneath him, her hands grasping his hair, her body frantic, trying to move closer, while her head screamed for her to stop, to end this madness.

Dante gave in to one of her desires, pressing closer, nudging her legs apart and pressing his knee against her thigh. He was breathing heavier, his hands shaking, as he reached for one leg and hoisted it around his back.

"The code, Ciara," Dante demanded, using every ounce of his strength to control his body. He wanted nothing more than to strip the jeans from her body and thrust high inside her, using each other's bodies to ride out the oncoming storm.

He released the button to her jeans, his eyes locked on her determined ones, slowly sliding the zipper down.

"FECK OFF," Ciara replied, her mouth open in surprise, as his hand slipped inside, past the last barrier, breaching her folds and invading every inch of her skin, "I willna give in," she cried out, as his fingers rasped against her, causing perspiration to dot her skin and her body to press against him.

"Oh God, Ciara. Why are you fighting?" Dante questioned her, his eyes closed, as the sensations her body was causing his fingers pooled at the base of his cock, causing it to harden and press against his jeans, "Just tell me the code, baby."

"I canna," Ciara answered, struggling. She needed to be closer. He wasn't in the right spot, she thought, realizing that he was deliberately keeping that part of him away from where she wanted it.

"Is this what you want, Ciara?" Dante asked, nudging her legs further apart and pressing his erection against her. He wanted nothing more than to rip his zipper down and let her body welcome him. Press her firmly against this door, and let her ride him until their desires were slaked. But, this wasn't a battle he planned on losing. It was her call, he reminded himself, lowering his forehead against hers and memorizing the feel of her body pressed tightly to his. His hands moved toward her cheeks, clothed in the jeans and he kneaded them, his lips finding that soft spot behind her ear and sucking.

"Oh, yes...Dante, please," she moaned, her eyes closed, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

"The code, baby," Dante replied, moving one hand from her cheek and resting it against the keypad.

Every part of Ciara wanted to continue to fight him, but every part of her wanted him just the same, "Alpha, November, Golf, Echo, Lima, Oscar," she told him, as Dante punched in the code and looked up in surprise.

"Angelo?" Dante whispered, practically gloating.

"I doona know what you are gloating about, Yank. I simply changed the code. The room was here long before you."

"Hm. How many guys have you brought back here?" Dante asked her, lifting her into his arms and pushing the door open.

"Including you? One," Ciara replied, her eyes misty, as she looked into his.

"Just one, huh? Should I be jealous?" Dante questioned her, with a cocky grin.

"Extremely, Yank. I doona know what it is, but I canna seem to get enough of him. He is bossy, always thinking he is right," Ciara grinned, as Dante set her down once they were inside the room.

"He's just looking out for you. He wants to protect you, Ciara," Dante said softly, surveying the room, his eyes scanning the walls and ceilings for any sign of cameras. He moved toward a nearby lamp, his hands delving beneath the shade and feeling for bugs. None.

"I doona need protection," Ciara told him, slightly irritated. His hands should be on her, she fumed. Not feeling up some lampshade, "Did I miss something, Yank? Doona you want this?" she questioned, her hands directing his gaze toward her body.

Dante moved toward the nightstand next to the bed, again looking for any sign of bugs. This time his hand found something and he pressed his finger to his lips and signaled Ciara to silence.

"Is that-" she cried out, as Dante sent her a look to be quiet.

He walked toward an open entryway that led into the bathroom and turned on the faucet, then placed the device beneath the stream of water. A sizzle ensued, followed by a loud pop. Satisfied, that the device was no longer working, he gripped it in his hand and turned toward Ciara, moving once again to the bed.

He walked stealthily throughout the room for several more minutes in silence, searching for any more devices and releasing a sigh of relief when he found nothing else. Canvassing the room one last time with his steely eyes, Dante shifted his gaze to Ciara, his look turning from a cold, methodical scan, to one completely filled with passion, his eyes becoming dark and stormy.

"I don't want an audience," Dante told her, tossing the disabled bug onto the nightstand, and turning to Ciara," What I do want is this," Dante told her, placing his hand over her chest, and teasing the skin above her heart, "And this," he marveled, moving his hand toward her neck, soon replacing his fingers with his lips, "And all of this," he grinned, trailing his hands from her hair, past her shoulders, down her sides, over her buttocks and down her thighs, before pushing her backwards, causing her to fall upon the bed.

"But, that," Dante told Ciara, looking toward the bug, his hand accidentally catching the hem of his black shirt and teasing her with the top of his boxer briefs and the noticable rock-hardness of his abs, "That we will discuss later, baby.. I won't lose you," Dante said, grabbing the end of the shirt and pulling it over his head, tossing it to the floor at his feet.

Ciara watched him, her eyes turning dark with desire, at every inch of his skin that was revealed.

Hers.

He was hers in every meaning of the word. Whether she wanted him, or not. Her feelings a complete contradiction.

She ached for him. Her body, her mind. She wanted to strangle him. His actions driving her crazy. His need to take charge of her, of her life.

He made her feel safe. His arms gentle, his touch warm and enveloping. He made her want to run. Her insides churning, her heart racing and her mind screaming to get as far and as fast away from him as her feet would carry her.

She wanted him. More than she'd ever admit. His safety, the feeling of him close by. His arms. His body. Their conversations. She wanted everything about him. She needed him.

Needed him, she reluctantly admitted to herself, as Dante slid onto the bed next to her, nearly naked, but for the black boxer briefs that molded to him, like a second skin. Her eyes were trained to his, focused on the sexy way he moved across the bed toward her, enraptured by the incredible beauty of his chiseled chest, the way his muscles rippled and his abs twitched, as her hands touched his skin. She loved the way he moaned when he was inside her, the way his breath hitched and his hands gripped her tightly. She loved the way she felt when his lips brushed her skin, every part of her, the softness causing her insides to furl and delicious sensations to course throughout her body. She loved everything about him, Ciara thought, sighing as Dante lips found the side of her neck and began to trail kisses up and down its side. She liked very much everything about him, she realized, her mind fighting with the feelings that were erupting from her heart. She pushed away from Dante, a look of fright on her face, as the feelings inside her were given a name. She didn't just like him. Bloody Hell, she loved him.

"Baby," Dante said, feeling her pull away and noticing the tears that were starting to fall on her face.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her pressed tightly to his chest, his hands rubbing up and down her back, "Baby, what's wrong? Is it this Jerry Jacks? You know, I won't let him anywhere near you," Dante assured her, worried by the look in her eyes.

"No, doona fash yourself. It is nothing," Ciara told him, the slightest smile spreading across her face, "I doona want to talk now, Dante."

"Mm, neither do I, love," Dante answered, covering her startled surprise with his mouth, as his lips devoured hers and his hands made quick work of her clothes.

"Are you sure that you are all right?" Dante asked her, pressing his lips softly to hers and looking deep into her eyes, his hands stroking the sides of her arms.

"Doona worry. I am a bit cold, mind you?" she replied with a grin, as Dante covered her body with his own.

"Well, let's just see about warming you up?" he answered with a cocky grin of his own, soon trailing his kisses down her chest, before settling at the juncture of her thighs.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" Dante whispered, his lips moving upon her skin, like a butterfly, the touch fleeting, the sensations unending, the feeling completely wicked.

"You don't, do you?" Dante told her, looking up, to watch her face as he pressed a kiss at the very center of her, "Beautiful, sexy and so incredibly sensual. I love every inch of you."

"Doona say things, you canna mean, Dante. You doona have to. I know what I am to you," she whispered softly, her eyes saucer-like, brimming with unshed tears.

"And what is it Ciara, that you think you are to me?" Dante asked, moving upward, until his hands rested on either side of her head. He spread her legs, moving between them, her thighs trapped on the outside, flush against his toned thighs.

"I be nothing more than a means to an end. I know that. You know that. Doona lie to me and tell me you doona come here for the Balkan," Ciara answered, waiting for the truth to fall from his lips.

"You're right, Ciara. I cannot lie to you. I did not come here for the Balkan. I came here for you," Dante said softly, his hands brushing the hair from her face.

"For Lulu Spencer," Ciara told him, as the tears fell down her face, "I doona know how to be her. I canna be her."

"I don't want you to be anything, but you, baby. Ciara, or Lulu, you are one and the same. Whoever you choose to be, baby, I'm with you. I love you," Dante said, kissing her, his hands wiping the tears from her face.

"I didn't fall in love with a name. I fell in love with a woman that grabbed me the moment I saw her at that pub. There was something about you that reached inside of me. It held tight. So tight, like nothing I'd ever felt before. I wanted to be with you. Desperately."

"I doona know if you are just saying that. I doona know if I can trust you," Ciara voiced honestly, unsure of her feelings.

"Love is a risk, baby. It isn't neat and tidy. It doesn't come with a guarantee. You either jump in, or sit on the bank always wondering...what if. What if you took that chance and fell headfirst in?"

"I doona know. I doona want-" Ciara cried, as Dante held her close.

"To get hurt. I get that, baby. I can't imagine what you must have gone through all those years ago. When I think about the fear you must have felt, the thought of being alone, it kills me. I would do anything to erase that part of your life."

"Lulu's life, not mine. I canna be her. I doona want to be her," Ciara answered, more adamantly.

"Because admitting it, means acknowledging that the dreams are real, baby. You can't ignore them forever. I love you. You, baby. I'm in this, with you all the way, if you'll let me."

"I doona like to be afeared, Dante. I doona like to feel out of control. I doona-" she started, as Dante kissed her.

"Then, tell me what you do like?" Dante asked, wanting to erase the look of desperation on her face.

"I like being the one they come to for help. I like feeling important, like I exist, like knowing that my decision matters," she told him, sitting up straighter, placing her hand on his chest.

"I like being near you. I like the feelings that start in my belly and move throughout," she continued, as Dante's breath caught in his throat and he hung on her every word.

"I like your hands against my skin," Ciara told him, shaking, as she reached for his hand and placed it upon her breast.

"I like wanting you. More than anyone in my life. I doona know if what I feel is fleeting. I doona know if it will be here tomorrow. I doona wish you to be anywhere but near me. I ache without you. I doona understand why. I need you. I doona like that much. It is a feeling that makes me afeared. I doona know why," Ciara whispered, her lips a breath away from his.

"You like me," Dante answered, grinning, "A lot."

"I doona know why? You are cocky. You are brainless. You doona listen to a word I say-"

"Wrong. Baby, I listen to your every word," Dante answered, pushing her down onto the bed, "Every syllable that comes out of your mouth torments me. It drives me mad," he told her, trailing his hand down her breasts, teasing the nipples and smiling, as he watched them harden.

"You like wanting me? I LOVE wanting you," Dante informed her, moving his hand lower and tormenting the entrance to her sex.

"I love wanting you, too," Ciara admitted, her teeth catching her upper lip and biting down, as his finger slid inside her. She gasped, instinctively pressing closer, wanting more.

"And I love needing you, baby. I need you so much it hurts," Dante shared, his eyes focused on hers. Looking for any trace of doubt, "You believe me, don't you?"

"Yes," Ciara said, accepting it as truth, just as easily as she accepted his fingers inside her, the moisture pooling between her legs, her feelings raging, threatening to consume her.

"I love you, baby. You," Dante told her, removing his fingers and positioning himself at her entrance.

"You," Dante insisted, parting her folds and thrusting inside. He held still, looking deep into her eyes, his body straining to find release, "You believe me, don't you?"

"Yes," Ciara cried out, as he began to move inside of her, his hips matching the rhythm of his tongue as his lips found hers.

They moved faster, Ciara countering his movements, her lips breaking from his, as she moaned, her head tilted to the side, his head nestled in the crook of her shoulder. He lifted her legs higher, moving deeper inside, feeling Ciara's body react to him. The pressure felt so good, he thought, pumping faster, angling his hips so that he hit her G-spot.

"Dante," she screamed, as her orgasm hit with the force of a tidal wave, crashing over her, drenching her with every pleasurable sensation she could imagine. She heard him shout her name, giving her two more short thrusts before he collapsed atop her.

He held onto her, turning so that his back was to the bed, his head against the pillow and she rested atop him. He was still inside her, his cock twitching, as she pressed kisses to his chest, her hair like a curtain against him. He moved his hands to the back of her ass, molding her cheeks and watching the expression of wonder on her face.

"I really do love you, Ciara," Dante told her again, as she looked down at him, her eyes alight with emotion, his hands splayed on her breasts, as she made love to him.

This time, it was she who collapsed against him, their breathing labored, each completely exhausted.

"I know," she answered, looking into his eyes.

"You know?" he replied, attempting to think after what they had just done. Twice.

"I know that you love me. I believe that you love me," Ciara said softly, kissing his lips.

"And how did you come to this realization?" Dante asked her, truly amazed by her beauty.

"Because I love you, too." Ciara whispered, watching Dante's grin transform into a smile that spread upon his face.

"You love me? A little bit?" Dante said, his cocky side pushing out.

"More," she answered, curling into his side.

"As much as your family?"

"Mm.. the same, Dante, but differently too," she answered, honestly.

"More than Ireland?" he grinned, as Ciara punched him in the stomach.

"Not bloody likely. Doona get your head aswelling, Yank. A woman would be crazy to love a man more than her own mother country."

"Mm. I'm a yank, baby. You said so yourself. I already love you more than Ireland, Europe and the whole bloody US of A put together. What do you say to that?" Dante laughed, revealing his dimples.

"Good thing you're not a woman. You're fecking crazy, yank. But, you're my yank," Ciara smiled, nestling closer to him.

"You're yank. Yeah, I could get used to that nickname," Dante sighed, closing his eyes and pulling her closer. He fell asleep with her in his arms, her face pressed against his chest.

Ciara lay in the darkness, her head resting against his skin. She could hear the steady fall of his chest, the sound of his breathing. She loved him. More than anything, she thought, the tears falling on her face.

"You doona deserve a woman that doona know who she is," she whispered, her hand stroking his chest, "I doona know if I can love you with my whole heart. Not when I doona know who I really am," she answered, pressing her lips to his chest and letting sleep overcome her.

Dante looked down at the woman asleep, her mouth open, her breathing steady, as she lay against him. Her words played over an over in his head. She loved him. He had to shake himself every few seconds to believe it was true. Closing his eyes, he fell into slumber once more.

Hours later, he awakened, shifting upon the bed, searching for the comfort of her body. But, she was gone. Ciara was gone.

He stumbled into the shower, jumped out minutes later and raced to the bedroom, pulling on his clothes.

He looked to the nightstand, noticing that the bug was missing as well, "Dammit, Ciara," Dante shouted out loud, opening the door and moving quickly down the hallway.

He was so sure that Ciara had once again left him, that it came as a huge surprise to him to see her standing in the midst of a circle of her colleagues, conducting business, clearly unaware of the hell that she had caused him in the last ten minutes of his life. His heart still pounding in his chest, he surveyed the room, noticed the geeky guy, Spinelli, a bit more disheveled since Dante saw him last, but peering at a monitor with various types of listening devices. The young woman from earlier, stood behind him, her hand resting on his shoulder. Dante stepped further into the room, his eyes taking in the men that surrounded Ciara, attune to her every word, her every movement.

"Ahem," Dante said, announcing his presence, as Ciara turned toward him, her face hiding her emotions.

"Detective Falconeri, so glad you could join us," Shane answered, his eyes clearly revealing his dislike for Dante.

"I would have been here sooner, but I seemed to have misplaced my memo for this meeting," Dante said sarcastically, "Baby, did you place it on the nightstand? It must of have fallen on the floor during our tussle?"

"Tussle?" Shane questioned, looking toward Ciara.

"Dante, obviously you left the memo inside with what was left of your brain," Ciara replied, moving closer, until she stood next to him, "What the feck are you doing? I doona want our private life displayed for all of Dublin."

"Well, baby, you should have left me a memo."


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: A little shorter than usual, but hope you enjoy just the same. Hugs.**

Chapter 9

"Your name?" the stocky, ugly-faced goon yelled, his hand wrapped around the prisoner's injured kneecap, squeezing.

"I am Gilson Vermeersch from the village of Gaasbeek in Belgium, outside of Brussels," he said, curled on his side, his long light-colored hair plastered to his face.

"My father was Guillaume Vermeersch. My mother was Adelheid Piret. I am a curator in the King's House at the Brussels City Museum-"

"You are LYING," the man shouted, kicking the prisoner in the stomach, "Tell me your name!"

"Why don't you tell me, you rat-faced, slimy bastard?" the prisoner mumbled, twisting to his side and cradling his gut.

"Enough!" a bald-headed European man said, short in stature and bulky, "Your interrogation has resulted in nothing. Get out of my sight!" he said, as the ugly-faced goon disappeared from the cell.

"You know, I chose this dungeon because its previous owner was known for his interesting interrogation toys. Count Edvard de La Marck was a brutal, feudal lord, ambitious and unscrupulous. He was restless. Known for his instruments of torture, his machines that stretched and pulled every limb of your body, clamps that could render a man's mind vacant, But this room- this room was my favorite. Nothing but a stone floor to press your back upon. A single window so far above your head that it eliminated the remote possibility of escape and allowed so little light into the room that you couldn't tell if it were day or night. It's connected to the castle's reservoir, one single chute above you that fills the room with the icy water of the reservoir, drowning its victim, before draining hours later into the moat."

"Count de La Marck was a coward," the prisoner said, pushing on his back toward the wall, cringing with every scrape of the stone on his back, "He raided the coffers of the diocese, stole the money from his own lieges, he was an idiot, whose own sister Charlotte de La Marck was the true heir giving the castle and its holdings to Henry de la Tour d'Auvergne upon her marriage. He usurped the entire La Marck lineage, murdering his wife on her wedding night and gaining all that the La Marck fuedal lord had cultivated. It's said that after he murdered her, d'Auvergne lost his mind. He swore that she walked the halls, tormented him nightly. He jumped from one of those turrets. Fell to his death. Maybe she'll pay you a visit...hm," the prisoner laughed, coughing on his own blood, as he held his chest.

"You always were overly dramatic, Herr Biermann," the Balkan said, reaching for the sconce on the wall and removing the candle. It's heat causing the wax to drip down its sides.

"We'll see how you fair when your own child sits by your side. Do you think she'll even recognize you after all these years?" the Balkan asked, as he tipped the candle, its wax dripping onto the prisoner's legs, burning his flesh.

"I do not know what you are talking about. I do not have a daughter. I am Gilson Vermeersch, from the village of Gassbeek-"

"So you say," the Balkan said, bringing the flame of the candle closer to the prisoner's flesh," I took great pride in that job, taking the lass. Relished every bit of torture her disappearance caused you and your family," the Balkan whispered, his voice cold, as the prisoner shook, whether with pain from the flame, or anger.

"Don't worry, Herr Biermann, or should I call you, Mr. Spencer? I've kept a close eye on your lass all of these years, so close that I can feel my blade upon her skin. I have plans for the lass. Great plans," the Balkan laughed, extinguishing the flame and leaving the cell.

The prisoner moved closer to the wall, every agonizing inch exploding throughout his body. He reached inside his pocket, his fingers capturing the paper inside, pulling it into the murky light and close to his face. The angelic face of the blonde-haired girl stared back at him, her hazel eyes filled with laughter. He smiled, tears welling in his eyes for the little girl he'd lost and the woman who didn't even know he existed.

* * *

"It's me, Dante," he said, holding his cell phone to his ear.

"Dante? My partner, Dante?" Lucky said sarcastically, "you know the one that took off a few days ago in search of MY SISTER and never bothered to check-in."

"Hey, I've been busy. I'm checking in now, aren't I?" Dante responded with irritation.

"Well?" Lucky questioned, waiting for an answer.

"Well, what?" Dante asked, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

"Did you find her?"

"Ciara is fine, Lucky. She's a bit shaken up, but other than that-"

"Shaken up? Why? What did you do?" Lucky demanded, his reddened eyes relieved that his sister was physically safe, but angry that she didn't fair as well, emotionally.

"Lucky, is that Dante?" the irish voice said in the background.

"Ssh, yes. Lu-...Ciara is ok. Dante is with her," Lucky replied, whispering.

"Where exactly are you, Lucky?" Dante grinned, his voice laced with insinuations.

"Never you mind, Dante. Talk to me partner. Why is my sister upset?"

"I didn't say she was upset, Lucky. Just that she is a bit shaken. I found her on the docks, in the midst of some hair-brained mission to taunt the Balkan. The son of a bitch set a trap and she nearly walked into it, Lucky. Your sister is the most aggravating, stubborn-"

"She's ok? She wasn't hurt?" Lucky asked, noting the change in Dante's voice when he spoke of his sister.

"Physically? Yes. But, dammit, Lucky, I'll be damned if I'm going to let her lead. She has no fecking restraint. She jumps in without using her fecking brain-"

"Pal, you've been in Ireland too long, you're starting to sound like one of them."

"Dammit, Lucky. You know what I mean. She's your sister, aren't you the least bit concerned?"

"Of course, I'm concerned, Dante. But, I have to respect who she is. Whether I like it, or not. I'm a cop, so I get her need to take this bastard down. I'm her brother, dammit. I want to protect her, to get her away from this bastard, but if you fight her-"

"I'm not trying to fight with her, Lucky," Dante answered, defensively, "but she just gets to me. Her infuriating need to always be right. She won't hear me out."

"Dante, you've worked with women before. Hell, some of your superiors were women, why are you so upset that she wants to call the shots?" Lucky prodded, with trepidation.

He didn't like where this conversation was going. His sister involved with his partner was one thing, but his partner sounding all possessive about his sister- well, that was a whole other can of worms.

"I don't have a problem with her being in charge, Lucky. I like that about her. Hell, I love-"

"But, I'm telling you, Lucky, if that son of a bitch harms one hair on her head-"

"You and I both know that won't happen, Dante. Neither of us, will let it. Now, how soon before you return? Siobhan and I would both like to see Ciara, to make sure that she is ok for ourselves," Lucky said, as Siobhan placed a plate of eggs and sausages before him.

"I don't know. Soon, I hope. If she doesn't fecking disappear on me again."

* * *

"I doona trust him, Ciara," Shane told her, sitting in front of computer next to her, while she analyzed the new data in front of her.

"I do, Shane. Why do you suppose this Jerry Jacks would be so careless, as to let him be photographed?" Ciara asked, her eyes locked on the monitor in front of her.

"I doona know. Mayhap he just forgot," Shane responded, rising from his chair and glaring down at Ciara, "You trust him. Have you fecking lost your mind, Ciara? He's a Yank. Da, your men, all of us, be drilling into you fer years the importance of your family. Of knowing who you be, Ciara. Respecting your family, Ciara. What the feck are you thinking?"

"I know what I am doing, Shane. Doona worry. I willna forget all that Da, Kiernan and you have taught me. Use me instincts. I am, Shane."

"You canna, Ciara. You be thinking with what's beneath your skirts and not with your head, Ciara."

"You are like a brother to me, Shane. So, I willna hold what you just said against you, but-"

"But? Ciara, what I say be the truth. You canna see what is right before your eyes. Every word from his mouth is false. The Yank be in Ireland a few days and already he is sharing your bed. You be letting him make decisions for you. You brought him here, Ciara. What is next, lass? Ifn he tells you the sun no longer sets in the west, but the east, will you believe that too? Just because you like the tool in the man's box, doona mean that you discard every other tool that has come before him and piss on their lives and their safety, Ciara."

"Feck off, Shane. I doona need, or want your advice," Ciara told him, "I trust him. Now, leave it alone."

"Is there a problem here, Ciara?" Dante asked, as he placed his cell phone in his jacket.

"No, no problem. Are we clear, Shane?" Ciara questioned, as Shane shook his head and mumbled under his breath. It's your funeral.

"Excuse me," Dante said, pointing an accusing finger at Shane, "You have something to say. Be a man."

"I said it's her funeral. I doona threaten her. You do," Shane answered, directing his finger at Dante, "With your interference and your fecking attitude. You doona know her. You canna begin to understand the danger you put her in."

"I put her in?" Dante bellowed, "Where the hell were you when the fucking warehouse blew up. If I hadn't been there-"

"We're not getting anywhere by-"

"You doona understand how we work, Yank. Ciara be safe with us. Doona mistake, Yank. She may toss her skirts and welcome you, but willna be as open with our trust," he sneered, as Ciara held Dante back.

"Dante, calm down!" Ciara yelled, holding him.

"Don't tell me to calm down, Ciara!" Dante said, to her, his chest heaving, "And you," he said, directing his gaze to Shane, "You open your mouth about Ciara like that again and-"

"Both of you, enough," Ciara shouted, slapping a file on Shane's chest, "Start working on the logistics for the raid. I want coordinates on all of this Jerry Jax's movements. If they so much as change the bush they piss on, I want to know about it," Ciara ordered, with a firm, authoritative tone to her voice.

"Ciara?" Shane started to say.

"Now, Shane."

"Fine. But, I doona trust him. I willna Ciara. Neither should you."

"Ciara?" Dante interjected, as she tugged him toward her, "Not a word, Yank."

Ciara walked toward Spinelli and Winnifred, whose heads were deep in the files of Jerry Jax. She towered over them, running her hand through her blonde locks and releasing a frustrated sigh. She turned to Dante, a look of exasperation on her face, "Ifn you wanna be part of this plan, move your arse, Yank. I willna ask you twice."

Dante smiled, letting her lead the cause, this time. But, later...later they were going to discuss Shane. Dante's gut was telling him something was off with that guy, and his instincts were never wrong.

"Ciara, you cannot put off the inevitable. You should talk to Lucky Spencer. Let me call him. He could meet us somewhere," Dante suggested, pulling out his cell phone.

"Is he with Siobhan?" Ciara asked Dante, her brows furrowed.

"Yes, he is."

"Tell him to give her this message. To go to the place that we played as children. Not to mention the name or where they be going. We we can talk there," Ciara told him.

* * *

"Where are we going?" Dante asked Ciara a few hours later, as she pulled her rental to the side of the road and got out of the car.

All around them were grassy fields and mountains in the distance. It seemed as if they had left civilization and stepped back in time. Underneath his feet were paths of stone, no paved roads, no traffic lights, as they had driven along, no houses as far as he could see.

"I'm assuming you know where we are?" Dante questioned Ciara, as he scanned their surroundings. It was too open. The Balkan could be anywhere.

"Doona fash, Dante. We are safe. This is Shankil."

"Are we still-"

"In Dublin? Yes. I doona know who owned these lands, but they have been here for centuries. The castle is this way," Ciara told him, as Dante looked at her in surprise.

"Castle?" he said, following her up a hill. He reached its peak and looked down at castle in question. A small, crumbling building that was overrun by moss.

"It was a strong house in its time. Used to keep us Irish out. During the Dark Ages, Shankill was raided by the Irish. This strong house was built in the Middle Ages to protect the castle. It's called Puck Castle. It is one of the last remaining sites that is untouched by the harsh reality of civilization.I used to play here as a child. I loved it," she said, walking toward the stone building, three stories in height.

She placed her hands against its surface, closed her eyes and imagined what it must have been like all those centuries ago. She could picture the people of the Middle Ages, the peasants that worked the land, their families, the lineages that held court in the nearby castles.

"I dreamed I was a warrior. Sent by the Archbishop to keep out the Gaelic Irish, preserving the land," Ciara laughed, opening her eyes and turning toward Dante, "Siobhan and I ran about with our sticks, as swords in hand, dueling and fighting invaders."

"I bet you were a great warrior," Dante told her, grinning.

"I wasna afeared here. This place. It made me happy," Ciara told him, looking toward him, "I doona know why."

"I do. It's something straight out of a storybook. The kind of castle that a prince would rescue the princess in distress."

"Mayhap," Ciara told him, glancing about her, "I've missed this place," she said aloud, moving toward a rock outcropping and taking a seat. She patted a section beside her, inviting him.

"They willna be much longer. Siobhan knows these roads well. Come, sit and we will breathe in the fresh air together."

Dante sat beside her, the city boy in him not understanding what the big hoopla about country life was about. The silence alone would be maddening.

No buses and cars littering the roadways. No sounds of people yelling on the streets, or children playing stick ball.

The silence was deafening. Only the occasional sound of the birds breaking the quietude, the stillness.

"Close your eyes, Dante," Ciara whispered, placing her hand over his, "Canna you hear the wonder that surrounds you?"

"I can't hear anything," Dante admitted, shaking his head and running one hand through his hair.

"Listen, Dante. With all of your senses. Doona let the place of your birth shroud this world of beauty. See it. Truly see it, Dante," Ciara told him.

Dante closed his eyes and tried to see the beauty, as Ciara had said. He felt the warmth of the sun on his eyelids, his nose, his cheeks. He heard the birds chirp louder. The rustle of the leaves, the sound of the slight wind that barely kissed his arms.

"Canna you feel it? It's as if you were there. The sounds of the village just below, the clanging of metal upon metal. He felt a shadow pass over his eyes, his instincts telling him they were no longer alone.

"Am I interrupting?" Lucky Spencer asked, his eyes filled with laughter, as he looked down at his partner. Ciara's friend, Siobhan, with hat perched atop her head, standing at his side.


	11. Chapter 11

"How long have you known the detective, " Ciara asked, Lucky Spencer, her eyes darting a few feet away toward where Dante and Siobhan sat.

He laughed at something she said and dimples appeared on his face. Ciara felt her heart stop and her pulse beat quicker.

"You really like him, don't you?" Lucky observed, keeping a close eye on Dante with Siobhan. He wasn't jealous. He knew his partner wasn't interested, but the woman he was interested in worried Lucky.

"As much as any man, I guess," Ciara lied, knowing that she had never felt for anyone the way she felt for Dante Falconeri, "He's a bit protective. Has he always been like that?"

"I've known Dante since we were kids. If he's concerned and wants to keep you safe, let him, Lulu," he told her, as Ciara turned away a look of sadness on her face.

"I'm sorry. Really, Ciara. This is just hard for me. I look at you and I see my sister, Lulu."

"And I look at you and see a stranger. I'm sorry, Lucky. I doona know this Lulu," Ciara answered, her eyes filled with fear and sadness.

"I can share her with you, Ciara. I want to, if you'll let me," Lucky suggested, pulling out a photograph from his pocket. It was worn, the edges a bit torn, but the image was haunting.

"Where did you get that?" Ciara asked, staring down at an exact image of her when she was maybe five years of age. The little girl was dressed in a Yankees jersey, her blonde tresses in two braids and a baseball cap with NY embroidered on it was perched atop her head.

"It was taken just before-"

Ciara watched Dante's partner's eyes fill with tears, his face starting to redden. She was slightly uncomfortable, a part of her wanting to bolt, while the other screamed for her to listen.

"Dad had taken you to your first baseball game. You were hooked. It's all you could talk about. He even made a stupid game out of it," Lucky told her.

"Monsters," Ciara interjected, a flash of memory, hitting her, the same one she had been having more regularly now, "She looks happy."

"She is. She was. Don't you have any photos from when you were a child?" Lucky prodded, wondering what her family had told her. Did they even know?

"Da said that they were lost in a fire. The only photos I have are when I started my first year at Maple's School for Girls. Don't much remember anything else. Kiernan said the lasses teased me. That my accent was a bit odd. I remember Da telling him not to fash about it and to let me be."

"You don't remember anything before you lived with the Kelly's? In Ireland, elsewhere?" Lucky questioned, prying for information that could lead to the capture of the Balkan and dislodge the memories that he was certain were locked somewhere within her mind.

"Not a one, "Ciara lied, still troubled over the nightmare that had plagued her for years. She looked over at Dante Falconeri, her eyes full of sadness. He smiled at her, sending a reassuring look that calmed her, quieted her racing pulse. It was as if he sensed her every emotion. Could tell by just a look, or a touch what she was feeling. It troubled her, it did. The hold that he had on her.

"Well, are you up for it?" Lucky asked her, as Ciara looked to him, unaware of his question.

"I'm sorry. I doona know what you mean? Up for what? The sky is cloudy, yes. But, I think that we are safe for now."

"No, that's not what I meant, Lu-" he said, rubbing his hands over his eyes, "Ciara, I meant do you want me to tell you about her. About you?"

"Doona be silly, I know me. You canna tell me something that I doona know about myself," Ciara informed him, as Lucky waited, a bit impatiently, drumming his fingers,"Right-O. Go on, then. I will listen."

"Our father was Luke Spencer..."

* * *

"How did you two meet?" Dante asked Siobhan, his eyes transfixed on Ciara, his body in tune to her every movement.

"When we were wee lasses at a boarding school. Ciara was quiet at first. A bit stand-offish," Siobhan recalled, "She had sad eyes. The saddest I'd ever seen."

"Did she have a lot friends? Family?" Dante questioned, his detective instincts kicking in.

"Friends, no. Family? Her Da for the first few weeks, Ciara and Seamus were inseparable. The man did not want to let her out of his sight. She seemed to gravitate toward him too. Like they needed each other as anchors, you know. Her mother came by a few times too. A bit strange that. I remember all of the mutterings at the time. Mostly rumors."

"Rumors? Of what?" Dante asked, curious.

"The fact that she doona look a thing like them. Seamus had the reddest-orange hair you'd ever see, like a carrot it was. And, Ciara's mother, well she was as Irish as the day is morn. With dark sable hair and the greenest of eyes. Ciara had blonde hair and eyes with flecks of gold that sparkled with the sun."

"And people noticed?" Dante asked, wondering how many in the town knew that Ciara wasn't who her family claimed her to be.

"It was as plain as the freckles on my nose. You did not have to look hard to see. The whole town knew," Siobhan told him.

"They knew. Everyone?" Dante questioned, finding that hard to believe, "Just what was it that they thought they knew, Siobhan?"

"Well, that Ciara was adopted of course. Her family killed when she was just a wee lass."

"Of course. Seamus's story?"

"I doona know why you say it is a story, but Ciara's Da spread the word, yes."

"And they just believed him. There wasn't any proof?"

"Proof. In Ireland a man's word is as good as gold. Ciara's Da was constable. If he said it was so. It was. The Balkan...there is more to him than you are saying, yes?"

"Yes, Siobhan," Dante replied, his gaze on Ciara.

"You will protect her. Keep her safe," Siobhan sobbed, holding a secret for so long deep inside of her.

"With my life," Dante assured Siobhan, as nodded her belief in him and stood, "Then come, I have something to show you."

* * *

"Go away!" the man said, the shadows playing tricks with his eyes. The tears threatening to consume him.

She couldn't be here.

It was his guilt over what he had done.

The pain at what he had lost.

Yet, there she was as plain as the eyes could see, sitting in the shadows, her head upon her knees.

"Daddy, I'm afraid," the little girl said, her blond braids matted and her eyes filled with terror, "I can't make them go away."

"Make who go way, cupcake," Luke asked the shadow, his hands trembling, as he reached for her. She remained just inches from his touch, her tiny voice breaking his heart.

"The monsters," she whispered, her image fading before his eyes.

"She's not real. She's not real," he shouted, his hands beating upon the stone walls, the blood trickling from his newly opened wounds.

"What did you due to my baby? Where is Lulu?" he yelled, his voice echoing back at him, as he covered his eyes and brought his knees to his chest, the tears falling onto his face.

* * *

"He's gone?" Ciara asked, stunned, as Lucky revealed the fate of their father.

A part of Ciara was shaken, the news shattering a piece of her heart, a section that she didn't even know existed, "I'm so sorry," she cried, the tears falling upon her face, as she wiped them with her hands.

"What's wrong?" Dante questioned, rushing to her side, "Did he say something? Are you hurt? Tell me, baby?"

"No, doona fash yourself. I'm fine, Dante. It's just...Well, I doona know what is wrong with me. I canna feel something for someone I doona know. I canna-" she sobbed, wrapping her arms around Dante, as he pulled her into his arms and sent Lucky a scathing look.

"You told her that her father DIED," Dante mouthed, his anger evident in his eyes.

"She needed to know," Lucky whispered, as Ciara wiped her eyes, hugging Dante tightly.

"I hear your voices," she added, sniffling, "You doona need to whisper."

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry," Dante said softly, his hand stroking her back, "After what happened to your Da...this must be a total shock to you."

"My Da, Dante how do you know? Siobhan? You promised," Ciara accused, her hands shaking, her eyes blazing with fire.

"I willna lie, Ciara. He deserved to know."

"Know what?" Lucky asked, his concerned eyes focused on his sister.

"Seamus Kelly was murdered. Something that I should have known from the start, Ciara. Why?"

"I doona understand why you think it is important. My Da died when I was a wee lass,"Ciara answered.

"After he contacted Interpol, Ciara. AFTER he told them that you were not his daughter, but the missing child, Lulu Spencer. THAT you should have told me."

"I doona know who Lulu Spencer is, or was, before you fecking showed up, DETECTIVE," she shouted, shaking her fist at him.

"He was murdered because he tried to give you back," Dante yelled, reaching for her hand and pulling her closer, "He knew what he did was wrong and he wanted to make it right," he said, his voice becoming softer.

"I doona believe you. It canna be true," Ciara replied, placing her arms around his neck and holding on tight.

"Believe it, baby. It's your proof. You are Lulu Spencer. Seamus knew it and you can be sure that your mother did too," he told her, clutching her snugly against him, feeling the cries that racked her body, "Ssh, I got you. I'm not going anywhere, baby."

"After all this time, it canna be true," she whispered, the memories becoming clearer in her head. The wee lass clutching her Da's hand, the image of another standing in the shadows, the spitting image of Seamus Kelly.

"I doona know what to do. I doona know how to feel," she told him, "how did you-" she said looking at Siobhan.

"I stumbled upon some papers in your Da's office. It was plain as day. Your name, your real name on the birth statement. Lulu Spencer," Siobhan told her, the tears welling in her eyes, "I doona believe it at first, but then I followed your Da one day. I saw where he went. I saw-"

"What, Siobhan? What did you see?" Ciara asked her, suddenly afraid.

"Oh, my dearest friend. You are like a sister to me," Siobhan cried.

"What did you see?" Ciara shouted, the tears streaming down her face.

"I saw her grave," Siobhan whispered, her voice broken, "Ciara's grave."

"It's a lie. A fecking lie. My Da would tell me. HE would tell me," she yelled, turning her back to Dante, as he reached for her, pulling her back into his arms.

"He was a man grieving, Lulu. He was deeply hurt over the loss of his own daughter," he told her, holding her against him, "By the time he tried to make things right, it was too late."

"The Balkan?"

"It's very likely, but I don't know why he kept your identity a secret for so long. What's in it for him?" Dante asked, trying to make sense of it in his head.

"He killed my father," she sobbed, her head pounding with memories of a red-headed lass, their sister pact in the back of that metal box and their promise to each other.

"Ciara's father, " Dante said softly, turning her in his arms, "and your father, Luke Spencer. It can't stay a lie any longer, Lulu. You have to come out of the darkness. The bastard took most of your life. Don't let him take away who you really are. Fight, Lulu."

"She's dead. You're sure," she cried, turning toward Siobhan, "Yes, she is. I'm sorry, Cia...Lulu. I'm sorry that I canna tell you sooner. That I was afraid."

"He canna get away with it. I willna let him. He has to be stopped," she told him, looking at Dante and turning to his partner, Lucky.

"I know that you doona know much about me, but I want to know more, will you help me?"

"Help you?" Lucky asked, as he looked back at his sister, whose gaze was now more determined than ever.

"I want to meet her, your Laura. Will you take me to her?" she asked.


	12. Chapter 12

**For a certain LEX girl's belated birthday wish. Well, one of the anyway. Happy Belated Birthday, Toby.**

"Are you out of your fecking mind?"

"It's just clothing," Lucky told her, as she stood defensively, with her hands on her hips.

"No. I willna wear it," she answered, adamantly.

"It's the only way you're getting on the plane."

Dante Falconeri sat silently, trying not to laugh at the display of clothing spread out on the bed. But, he failed, his laughter breaking free.

"Why canna he wear it?" she asked, Lucky, pointing at Dante, whose eyes were filled with mirth.

"It's for a woman, Lulu. Not a man," Lucky informed her, her true name on his lips sounding foreign and a bit unsettling.

"Hey, it's not THAT bad," Dante commented, rising and moving toward her, "Think of it as role-playing."

"When I was a wee child, Dante, I dinna ever think of wearing these," she said pointing to the red tunic and the black veil with a white cowl.

"Why canna I be the Air Marshall?" she begged, Lucky, her eyes nervously darting to the garment on the bed.

"Because Lulu, the passport says that you are Sister Francesca from St. Mary's in Dublin. I'm sorry, but it was the best I could do in such short notice. If I had more time-"

"I told you I thought this was a bad idea to begin with. How do we know he doesn't already know what we have been up to?" Dante asked Lucky, reluctant to make this trip.

"I didn't tell anyone. Siobhan won't share our little trip. Have either of you?" Lucky questioned.

"I haven't said a word," Dante answered, looking toward Lulu, "What about you? Did you say anything to your family?"

"You know I dinna say a word, Yank. I doona like this."

"She can't do this, Lucky. She's practically backing out now. It's not just anyone that can pull this off," Dante noted, his hands touching the red fabric of the tunic, "Maybe we should come up with a different plan."

"I doona say I canna do this. I willna have you say I am afeared," she said in defiance.

"I did not-"

"I doona need you to tell me what I can or canna do. I am going. Now be off," she replied, dismissing him.

"Let's go, Dante. Lulu, do you think you can handle this?" Lucky asked, pointing toward the vestments.

"It canna be that hard," she answered, reaching for the tunic.

"Good. I still need to give Dante his clothing."

"My clothing?" Dante questioned, looking down at his tee shirt, dark jeans and leather jacket, "What's wrong with these?"

"Nothing," Lucky answered, with a smile, "If you were an Air Marshall, but you're not."

"I'm not the Air Marshall," Dante said in confusion, "Well, then who exactly am I supposed to be?"

"Let's discuss that in the other room," Lucky answered, ushering Dante toward the door.

Lulu disrobed, her black lacy lingerie sinful against her skin, as she pulled the red tunic over her head. She had started to examine the cowl and how she was to wear it, when she heard the commotion from the other room.

"Absolutely not. Are you out of your fucking mind?" Dante bellowed.

* * *

"Stop it," Lucky told Lulu, as she giggled uncontrollably beside him, "You're acting like children."

"She started it," Dante answered, begrudgingly, adjusting his collar.

"Look at him. He canna even wear it, without fidgeting," Lulu said softly, pointing at him, while others around them stared.

"Watch it, babe, " Dante whispered, motioning to her attire, "You're a nun."

"Enough!" Lucky scolded, as the stewardess moved toward them.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, politely.

"I'll take a tonic with lime," Lucky told her, as she glanced toward his companions.

"And you Father?"

"Beer, please," Dante answered, looking out the window.

Lulu Spencer kept her eyes trained on the brochure in front of her, reading about the city of Port Charles.

"What will you be having, Sister?" the flight attendant asked, as Lulu ignored her.

"You're father is Sonny Corrinthos? A mobster?" Lulu exclaimed, staring down at the American newspaper.

"Why are you surprised? I told you this," Dante answered, perplexed.

"A hit man? Fecking A," she said aloud, as she sat reeling after reading about Corrinthos' hold over the city.

"Lulu? She's waiting. What are you drinking?" Dante leaned in to whisper.

"Hm..Oh," she replied, spying the flight attendant's questioning brow, "Rum and Diet coke."

As soon as the flight attendant moved up the aisle to get their drinks, Lucky Spencer leaned over and spoke to both of them, "When we land, I think that we should check in with Robert."

"Bad idea, Lucky. The fewer people that know we are in Port Charles, the better. Are you sure that you still want to do this, Lulu? You're just getting used to your real name."

"I want to meet her," Lulu admitted, focusing on Dante's eyes and then drifting downward, stopping at his black clergy shirt and the white collar that was currently irritating him. She grinned.

"I'm just saying that," he commented, pulling at his collar, "if you changed your mind, I would understand. Right, Lucky?"

"Your drinks," the flight attendant interrupted, handing the Rum and Diet Coke to the nun, the beer to the Father and the tonic and lime to the Special Agent, "Peanuts?" They nodded affirmatively and she handed each two bags.

Lucky waited for her to depart and then turned toward Lulu.

"I told you about her condition, Lulu. You need to know that she may not even react to you. I've visited her nearly every day for years and she doesn't always know who I am," Lucky shared, wanting her to be prepared.

"I understand. I doona want to hide anymore. I wanna go," she answered, sipping her drink.

Several minutes later, Lulu elicited a yawn, placed her empty cup on the tray in front of her and leaned her seat back.

"Do you want a pillow?" Dante asked her, waving over the flight attendant.

"Hm.." Lulu answered, closing her eyes, and turning to the side facing Dante.

"Can we get a few pillows?" he asked, handing the empty cups and the wrappers from the peanuts to the flight attendant.

"Right away," she told him, tossing the plastic and foil wrappers into the garbage.

"A few blankets too, please."

"I'll be back in just a few minutes, Father," she told him, turning to reach for the trash from the neighboring seats.

Several minutes later, Dante reached for the items from the flight attendant, placing a pillow beneath Lulu's head and wrapping a blanket around her.

Lucky Spencer snored peacefully in the aisle seat, Lulu in the middle and Dante in the window seat.

Dante adjusted his seat, put a pillow beneath is own head and turned toward the aisle, instinctively pulling Lulu into his arms, beneath the blankets. He closed his eyes and settled in for the long flight back to the states.

Across from them, near the front of the plane, two flight attendants stared oddly at the three seated passengers.

"A nun?"

"A Special Agent?"

"A priest?" one said, recalling the man's dark, wavy locks and the way his clergy shirt emphasized the muscles beneath.

"What a shame?" the older flight attendant noted.

"Did you catch the name of his church?" the younger flight attendant commented, smiling.

"St. Mary's. Why? You haven't stepped inside a church since you were a wee bairn."

"What can I say? I've been inspired."

Lulu awakened to the brush of fingers against her breasts, her body instantly reacting, as she stared into Dante's eyes.

"Hey, beautiful," he whispered, wanting so much to lean over and kiss her.

Damn this garb, he thought, his fingers teasing her soft skin beneath the blanket.

"Don't," she said softly, her nerves jumpy, as she moved her legs and felt the moisture pooling between her thighs.

"Want to join the mile-high club?" he smiled, his hands drifting lower, bunching the fabric of the tunic in his hands and grinning when he felt the silky softness of her thighs.

Lucky stirred beside Lulu, turning toward them, his eyes closed and his breathing even.

Lulu's heart beat faster. A sigh erupting from her mouth as his hand found her panties and teased her unmercifully.

All around them was darkness, the majority of the passengers sleeping, but for a few night owls who read books, conducted business on their laptops, or listened to their Ipods.

She felt one finger breach the edge of her panty and push inside, her body nearly jolting, if not for his hand that held her down.

That same hand removed itself from beneath the blankets and placed it against his lips, ordering her silence. Ssh.

He wanted her to be quiet. Not to make a sound, she noted in exasperation. Was he fecking crazy?

Oh God, she nearly breathed aloud, as his finger rasped against the sensitive tissues, causing her hips to move against him.

Oh dear, she thought bringing her hand against her lips, clenching it in a fist and praying that she didn't come.

She was dressed like a nun.

He as a priest.

She was surely going to Hell.

"Would either of you like anything to eat?" the flight attendant asked, stopping in the aisle and looking toward them.

Lulu's back was toward her, so the flight attendant did not notice her reddened cheeks, or the perspiration that was dotting her brow.

"Are you hungry?" Dante asked, grinning, as his thumb rubbed against her clitoris, nearly causing Lulu to cry out.

"No, I doona need anything," she practically croaked, using her free hand to smack him on his chest beneath the blanket.

"Well, let me know if you change your mind," the flight attendant said softly, her eyes roaming over Dante in appreciation, before shaking her head and reluctantly walking away.

"I think she likes me," Dante grinned, pulling Lulu closer.

"You are unbelievable. Fecking Yank," she exclaimed, moving to her back, as Lucky stirred beside them and Dante reluctantly removed his hand from beneath her blanket.

Dante glanced around them to ensure that no one was looking, then quickly kissed her on the lips, "We'll continue this later. I promise," he smiled, as she shifted uncomfortably within her seat, sending a glare his way.

"What are you grinning at?" Lulu questioned him, as Dante practically beamed, looking out the window, "You're dressed as a nun."

"So, Yank. You're a fecking priest," she leaned in to whisper.

"You. Me. That doesn't make you laugh," Dante grinned.

"Yanks. Fecking impossible you are."

"Hey, but you love me anyway, right?" Dante smiled, pressing his forehead to hers, "Go back to sleep. I promise to behave."

"Ha. I doona believe that," Lulu replied, another yawn escaping her lips, as her eyes drifted closed.

…...

"I canna wait to get out of these clothes," Lulu told them, as they exited the plane and she walked toward the restrooms.

"Just be quick," Lucky instructed them, as Dante walked toward the mens restroom and Lulu to the ladies' restroom.

"I'm actually a bit sad to see you take those off," Dante whispered to Lulu, stopping in front of the airport bathrooms.

"You're only sad, because you canna help me take them off yourself," she smiled, as Dante's eyes smoldered.

"There is that," he grinned, smacking her bottom as she hurried toward the restroom and noticing an audience.

"Costumes," Dante laughed at the family that had stopped nearby, standing with their mouths hanging agape.

"But, it's not Halloween," the red-haired, freckle-faced kid, said beside his mother.

"Isn't it. Well, I'll be damned," Dante replied, smiling, as he turned and walked into the mens restroom.

Six minutes later, they both exited, their outfits stuffed inside the bathrooms trash bins, buried beneath paper towels.

Lulu Spencer wore a pair of skin-tight blue jeans that sheathed her body like they were painted on and a pale blue lacy blouse that was covered with a soft, brown leather belted jacket.

Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and a cap rested atop her head.

She was the most breathtaking thing that Dante had ever seen. Still. It amazed him that every time he caught her eye, his heart stopped within his chest.

"You look beautiful."

"You doona look bad yourself," Lulu replied, glancing at his belted jeans and the dark button down shirt tucked into its waistband. She walked closer to him, so close that he could reach out to her and brush the side of her cheeks with his fingers.

Dante lightly passed his lips over hers, the sensation causing her toes to curl and goosebumps to erupt on her arms.

"You have no idea how badly I wanted to do this on the plane," Dante admitted, using his hand to guide her mouth to his and claiming the softness within.

Lulu sighed, as he kissed her, reluctantly pulling away, as she heard a shuffling of feet beside her and an irritated groan. She glanced down, her eyes taking in the way that Dante's shirt molded to his chest and noting the holstered gun to one side.

"If you too are finished ogling each other, maybe we can get the hell out of here," Lucky interrupted, rolling his eyes, turning to exit the airport, refusing to glance back and see if they were following.

"Nervous?" Dante asked Lulu, reaching for her bag with one hand, while the other grasped her hand in his.

Lulu shrugged her shoulders, leaning her head against his chest momentarily, as they walked behind her brother, "Afeared? A little," she said.

"She can't help but love you, Lulu. One look at you. That's all it will take."

"You doona know-"

"I know, Lulu. One look. That's all it took for me."

* * *

The man paced back and forth in the office. It's dark, morose furniture a reflection of his mood. He was nervous. Downright scared, if he was to be honest. He'd fucked up. Lost them again. Men like him didn't get second chances. Not in this business.

"He'll see you now," the short, stocky man said, his beady eyes darting left and right.

Creepy.

He walked inside, heard the door close behind him and found himself in an office much like the outer, furnished with dark leather and little light.

A large wooden desk was in front of him, its contents meticulously placed atop it, not a single item appeared out of place. A dark brown leather chair, its back presented to him, turned slowly revealing its inhabitant.

"I don't like repeating myself," the bald man said, in a monotone voice.

"I'm sorry, sir. It was not my intention-"

"And I don't like excuses, lad. Where are they?"

"I...don't...I don't know," the man answered, fidgeting. His hands clenching at his side.

"That is unacceptable, lad," the bald man answered, coldy, placing his hands on his desk, "FIND THEM!"

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir," the man replied, backing away and walking into the short, stocky man with the beady eyes.

"Is she here?"

"Yes, sir," the beady-eyed man answered, stepping aside to allow the lad to exit.

"Send her in," the bald-headed man ordered, "and dispose of that garbage in the outer office. It distates me."

"I'll take care of it," the beady-eyed man said, knowing that his boss was referring to the lad.

A few minutes later, she entered The Balkan's office, her dark hair plaited as usual and her spectacles leaning precariously on her nose.

"I don't like being summoned. It will cause suspicion. What is it you want this time?" she demanded, dropping into a nearby chair.

"Is that anyway to greet me," the Balkan told her, moving toward her.

"Fine. Father, how are you?" Winnifred asked, embracing him, and then stepping away, "Now, let's cut the crap. What the feck do you want?"

"I truly abhor when you speak to me like that. How are the plans coming? Where is my dear, Ciara?"

* * *

"Doctor," Lucky acknowledged, shaking his hand, "How is she?"

Doctor Stravinsky ushered the three of them into his office, directing them to the nearby chairs, "Please, be seated."

"It has been quite some time since your last visit, Mr. Spencer."

"I know. I meant to stop in several weeks ago, but things changed," Lucky noted, turning toward Lulu and Dante, "This is my partner, Dante Falconeri."

"Pleased to meet you," Dante answered, reaching out with his hand, as the doctor dismissed him politely.

"Stay seated, please. And who is this?" the doctor asked, Lucky, noticing the blonde-haired young woman at Dante's side.

"This," Lucky stated, "is my sister. Lulu Spencer."

"Your sister," Doctor Stravinsky replied, "but I thought-"

"So did I," Lucky answered, "We were wrong. All of us."

"Are you here to see your mother," the doctor asked Lulu.

Her mother.

The words felt bitter on her tongue.

Like she was betraying her own mammy back in Ireland.

"Laura Spencer. Yes. If'n she'll see me."

"Did your brother advise you of her condition," the doctor said softly, concerned.

"Yes," Lulu answered, wringing her hands in her lap, nervously.

Dante reached over and clasped her hand in his, before directing his gaze to the doctor.

"How is Laura Spencer?"

"Nearly the same as last time Mr. Spencer visited. We have started a new protocol. That drug I discusssed with you, Mr. Spencer."

"The one from France?" Lucky asked, recalling a conversation months ago.

"Yes. The treatment seems promising. It has been known to create miracles in patients such as your mother. We are encouraged that this treatment will cause the stimuli needed to awaken your mother from her unchanged state."

"She hasn't responded in years, doctor. What makes you think she will now?" Lucky questioned, wanting a miracle, but long since admitting it would not come.

"Not ever?" Lulu said, turning to her brother with worried eyes.

"Your mother is in a catatonic state, Miss Spencer. She is physically sound, looks like you, or I, but she has no sense of time or any awareness of her surroundings. She is essentially locked within her own dreams."

"Or nightmare," Lucky whispered, staring down at his feet.

"You don't know that, Mr. Spencer. Studies show-"

"I don't care about the damn studies, doctor. My mother has sat in that same damn chair for more years than I can count. She stares at a wall. She doesn't even know when I visit."

"It's difficult. I understand that, Mr. Spencer. But this new protocol-"

"It'll be just like all the rest. Worthless. I just want my mother back," Lucky shared, becoming teary-eyed.

"Time, Mr. Spencer. That's all we need. Just be patient. Let the treatment take effect."

"I won't hold my breath, doctor."

"If your mother doona know who you are, Lucky. Why am I here?" Lulu asked.

"We're hoping that you are the miracle that we've been waiting for, Miss Spencer. The sound of your voice could be the catalyst we need to break your mother free from the dream she has been living for nearly two decades."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 12

"You don't have to do this, baby," Dante said softly, as Lulu turned to him and he gently swept a lock of hair from her face, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"I doona have to," Lulu answered, smiling courageously at him, "but, something inside me... I doona understand it. I canna stop it,"she told him, honestly, turning toward the door that led to Laura Spencer's room.

"I'm here. Right outside this door, Lulu," Dante assured her, as she smiled, placed her hands on both sides of his face and kissed him. Softy. A gentle press of her lips to his.

"You doona know how much that means," she whispered, clinging to him for strength, before turning once again toward the door and reaching for the knob.

It opened easily, pushing inward, as Lulu moved with hesitation, her vision starting to blur from the tears that were streaming from her eyes.

She wiped them from her face, cautiously walking toward the chair, reluctant to disturb the figure that sat motionless, her back toward Lulu.

From a few steps away, Lulu observed the woman, noticed her long blond hair, the hand that rested on the arm of the chair.

She walked closer, slowly, her feet light upon the floor. She moved toward the bed, turned and sat down upon it, getting her first glimpse of the woman that gave birth to her.

She gasped.

Eyes of a startling blue, seemed to look straight at her, through her. It was disconcerting. The woman's blond hair was long and straight, a veil upon her face. She was beautiful. Stunning, really, Lulu thought, looking closer. Lines of age marked her eyes, her mouth too, only adding to her beauty. Those same eyes looked so familiar to Lulu, sparking some memory deep inside her. The tears filled her eyes once more and she found herself kneeling before the woman in the chair, her hands reaching for that of Laura Spencer's, seeking something. She didn't know what to do.

She placed her hand over Laura's, a part of her waiting anxiously for something to happen. She imagined that the woman who stared sightlessly past her, would turn suddenly, her eyes misting with tears, embrace her and pull her into her arms. Comfort, was that what she was looking for?

"I doona know what is wrong with me? I canna describe it?" she whispered, slowly stroking Laura's hand, "I feel strange...like a part of me has been missing. All these feelings they make me...Holy Mary, what am I doing? I am talking to a woman who canna possibly hear me, or see me. I am losing what sense my mammy and da gave me. I won't be afeared. I doona want to."

"_I doona want to," Lulu Spencer answered, hands on her hips, her blonde hair in two ponytails._

"_You will," her mother said, sternly, her own two hands placed firmly on her hips, while she pointed at the paper on the kitchen table, "Sit." _

"_Oh, Poohey. But, Mommy, it's a Saturday," Lulu announced, directing her mother's gaze to the window and the sun shining outside, "The game is at 2. I won't have time."_

"_Start writing, Lesley Lu Spencer," Laura told her, turning toward the sink and drying the remaining plate, then placing it in the rack with the rest of the dishes from breakfast, "You can play with your friends later."_

"_It wasn't my fault," six-year old Lulu replied, sullenly, sitting down at the table and picking up her pencil,"Daddy did tell me to stick up for myself and well, a dare is a dare," Lulu reminded, taking a firm stance._

"_Write," Laura ordered, reaching for a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water from the faucet._

"_But, fifty times, Mommy?"_

_Lulu looked down at the plain sheet of lined paper in front of her, a fierce expression on her face, as she picked up the pencil in her hand and began to write._

_I will not spit out my gum. I will not spit out my gum. I will not spit out my gum._

"_But, Mommy, Tommy said if I didn't that I was chicken...and well, I didn't mean for it to land in Mellody Scott's hair," she said looking up at her mother, "Tommy moved. It's his fault."_

"_Write, young lady," her mother said, firmly, taking a sip of the water and directing Lulu's eyes back to the sheet of paper._

"_I can't remember how to write a letter g," she answered in frustration, as Laura sat down beside her. _

"_Around the bend," she said making a letter C, "down to the pasture and up to the old tree."_

"_I remember now. Thanks, Mommy," Lulu replied, squinting her eyes and concentrating on her letters, "Only twenty-five more to go."_

"_Forty-seven," her mother responded, smiling, as Lulu glared back at her, "Fine. Twenty-five."_

_Sometimes you had to choose your battles._

"I doona remember much of this place," Lulu admitted, speaking of Port Charles, while sitting on her knees, gazing up at Laura Spencer's face, "just bits and pieces. I doona suppose you would like to hear of Ireland?"

Laura's gaze never wavered, her eyes staring at the window in front of her. Lulu wondered what it was that she looked at, what images played in her mind. Could she hear a word that she said?

"I doona know if you know of Dublin- if you have visited. It has green pastures as far as the eye can see. Castles around every corner. Da called her his Emerald Isle. I call her home."

* * *

"I don't know if this is a good idea, Lucky?" Dante told his partner, not once diverting his eyes from the door.

He could see Lulu within, watched her move toward her mother and saw the turmoil she was going through. It took every ounce of his strength not to tear the door down and pull her to safety, into his arms. Every tear that marked her face was like a knife to his heart and he wanted nothing more than to take her away from all of this. He'd take her back to Ireland if she asked, if it meant that he could spare one second of pain and erase the agony on her face.

"If it works," Lucky told Dante, while peering into his mother's room, "I'll have my mother back."

"At what cost to Lulu, Lucky?" Dante asked, watching the expression of anguish that appeared on Lucky's face as he turned," What price does she have to pay? She's just learned that the family she's known her whole life, isn't really hers. That her home, the country that she loves, her accent are nothing more than a cover, keeping her from the truth. What if Laura doesn't awaken? What then?"

"She's family. This is her home now," Lucky responded, "No matter what."

"If you think that Lulu is just going to forget everything about her life, Ireland," Dante informed Lucky, running his hands through his hair, "You don't know her at all."

"And you do? After a few weeks, you suddenly know my sister better than me? 'She's a new plaything for you. Just because you got her into your bed-"

Lucky found himself pinned against the wall, Dante's arm pressed against his chest, his eyes angry, "Watch what you say next, Lucky. I don't give a damn that you are my partner, that Lulu is your sister. You say one word against her-"

"Don't let me stop you," a voice behind them said, Dante's stance changing instantly, his charged energy turning on the man that stood before him.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I called him," Robert Scorpio said, stepping out of the shadows, "If you have a problem with that Detective Falconeri, you'll bloody well have to take it up with the WSB."

"Son, I-"

"Don't call me that. He's working for you?" Dante laughed, the emotion not quite reaching his eyes, as he turned toward the door and kept his focus on Lulu.

"He turned up some interesting news from his international connections," Robert told them.

"International? What kind of information?" Lucky asked, directing his gaze on Dante's father.

"You mean from whom, right? Let me guess one of the cartels. Which of your business partners crawled out from beneath their rocks to give us information? Completely fabricated, no doubt."

"I'm trying to help, son, " Sonny Corrinthos answered, staring at the hatred that was pouring from his son, Dante.

"Save it, all right. I don't give a shit, what you are selling. I'm not buying," Dante yelled, turning back toward the door, "All I care about is in that room. I don't care about anything you have to say."

"Not even if it means protecting her life," Sonny responded, as Dante turned to him, a look of disgust on his face, "I'm listening."

* * *

"_When did you learn so much about Ireland?" Laura asked her daughter Lulu, as she handed her a thermos of water and a baggie with half a peanut butter sandwich._

"_Daddy told me," Lulu answered, tying her shoes, "Is he going to be at the game? He said that he would."_

"_Daddy's working, honey. Police business."_

"_Oh, he's always working," Lulu fretted, kicking the chair, "I wanted him to see me block a goal."_

"_I know you did, honey. Maybe next game. O.K."_

"_Whatever," Lulu replied, "When I grow up, Mommy, I'm going to be Daddy's boss. Then, he can come to one of my games."_

"_You'll be too old then," Laura laughed, adjusting Lulu's ponytails and holding her hand in front of her mouth, "Spit it out."_

_Lulu Spencer spit the gum into her mother's hand and stood up, her hands on her hips, "You'll see. When I grow up, Mommy, I'm going to be just like Daddy. I'll be important."_

"_Lucky," her mother shouted to the other room, "we're leaving," she informed him, checking her watch for the time. Running late, as usual._

"_Now, Lucky," she yelled, as he came running down the stairs._

"_Really, Mom. Why I have to tag along is news to me?" _

"_Get in the car," she ordered, pointing to the Station Wagon parked out front._

"_You are seriously messing with my reputation, Mom. I cannot be seen in that," Lucky answered, pushing Lulu in front of him, as she stuck her tongue out at him, "If Dad were here-"_

"_Well, he's not. Now, get in," she demanded, holding the door open for them, "I have Lulu's game to get to and then I need to go to the grocery store," Laura informed them._

"_Fine. Drop me off at the arcade."_

"_Mommy, do leprechauns exist?" Lulu asked, perusing the book in her lap, her eyes glued to the pages._

"_Leprechauns? Honey, what are you reading?" Laura asked, as she turned toward the backseat._

"_One of those books Dad gave her," Lucky smirked, nudging her in the arm, "Gimme that."_

"_Stop it, Lucky," Lulu shouted, scooting closer to the window, protecting the book. _

"_Knock it off you too," Laura ordered both of them, as she adjusted the mirror, "Now, what was your question again, honey?"_

"_What's a leprechaun? Daddy said they live in Ireland," Lulu told her mother, her eyes alight with excitement, "Do you think that I'll get to meet one?"_

"_In Ireland? Maybe someday, honey. Now, put the book away. We have a soccer game to win."_

"But my favorite castle is Blarney Castle built by the MacCarthy's, nearly 600 years ago. I remember my Da tossing his cookies over the ridiculousness of the Yanks. Kissing the Blarney Stone they were. Walking up the Wishing Steps and bending over to press their lips to the limestone. Loons they were, thinking that some bit of stone was gonna bless them with the gift of words. Mammy thought it was romantic. Da and Mammy would tell me about their visits to Blarney Castle and oh, how their faces would light up like an Irish candle on the windowsill after Christmas Eve. They were good to me. Da and Mammy. Doona worry. They protected me," Lulu shared, looking into Laura's eyes and trying to find some glimpse that Laura heard her.

"_Lucky, watch your sister. I shouldn't be more than five minutes."_

"_But, Mom. I ain't no babysitter."_

"_With language like that, you're not going to be much of anything. When we get home, you and I, are going to start cracking those books of yours. Studying is important, Lucky Spencer." _

_Laura Spencer returned moments later, her eyes spotting Lucky with Emily Quartermaine and smiling. She glanced around him, looking for Lulu. _

"_Where's your sister?"_

"_She's behind us, kitchen aisle," her son answered, looking toward the aisle, "She was just there." She's probably just playing another game. Lulu, come on, Mom's waiting."_

_Laura's heart was pounding. Her pulse racing._

"_Lucky, you were supposed to watch her," she replied, frantic, "Lulu!"_

_She shouted her daughter's name, racing up and down the aisles, her heart pounding frantically inside her chest._

"_Have you seen a little girl with blond hair? Her name's Lulu."_

"_Please, someone has to have seen her. You can't miss her. Lulu! Lulu!"_

"_My baby. I want my baby! Lulu!" she shouted, collapsing to her knees._

"I am sorry I doona remember you and me," Lulu told Laura, still holding her hand, "I canna know what you must have gone through."

Was it her imagination, or did her fingers move, Lulu wondered, staring at the hand beneath hers.

She looked up into Laura Spencer's eyes, but they never turned toward her.

Her lips never moved.

Still. Lulu couldn't help but feel that the woman in that chair had reached out to her.

She shuddered, afeared at the emotions that were overwhelming her.

"Lulu," Dante said softly, walking into the room, "The doctor wants to check on your mother. Are you ready? What is it, baby?"

"I doona know. I thought that I heard my name. That she moved her hand," Lulu whispered, as Dante took her into his arms and held her close.

"Doctor?" he asked, as Lucky walked up behind them.

"Nothing. No change. If she awakens, it will not be tonight. It will take time," he told them, ushering them out of the room.

"Dante, I heard my name," Lulu told him, looking into his eyes, "I heard her scream my name."

They closed the door behind them, their backs toward Laura Spencer as they left. So, not one of them, noticed the tears that trickled slowly down her face, or the hand that clutched the arm of the chair.

* * *

Dante unlocked the door to his apartment, suddenly nervous, as he opened the door and turned to block Lulu's entrance.

"I haven't been here in a few weeks and...well, it may not be as presentable as I would like," Dante admitted, reluctantly.

"You doona have food lying about, or dirty socks on the floor," Lulu laughed, as Dante looked disgusted.

"No, well not the food. I may have a pair or two of socks," he told her, letting her pass.

His stomach was in knots, worry overcoming him, as he watched her survey his home for the first time. He had dated women before, but not one of them had ever seen the inside of his place. He smiled, a bit giddy at the fact, that Lulu was the first.

"I know it's not Ireland," he said, rushing toward the chair and tossing a few clothes into a pile in the corner, "but, the view is incredible," he said, peering out the window, as Lulu moved toward him.

She looked out at the cityscape of Port Charles, at the brick buildings across the street and the docks toward the right. She could hear the sound of blaring horns and the traffic below. Definitely not Ireland, she thought.

"I know it's not much," Dante whispered moving up behind her, "but, in the morning when the sun first rises, you can hear the birds chirping through the window, right from your bed."

"I like the sound of that," Lulu smiled, settling back against him, his arms reaching around her and holding her close.

"You're safe here. You know that right, Lulu?" Dante asked, running his hands through her hair and moving it behind her back.

She felt his lips brush the side of her neck and his fingers caressing her arms, as she sighed, leaning back against him and closing her eyes.

He untied her jacket, dropping it to the floor at her feet. Holding onto her, he walked them backward, swearing as his legs struck the side of the bed. He moved his arms upward swiftly and pulled her blue top over her head. Lulu shivered, feeling the loss of warmth and wrapped her arms tightly across her chest. She turned toward him, her breath catching, as she watched him unbutton his shirt, then toss it to the floor. He sat there, motionless, waiting for her response.

Lulu's heart was pounding, her pulse racing, as she tried to look at everything in the room, but the man shirtless, sitting on his bed.

She noticed the Yankees banner on the wall, the large kitchen to the far left. A basket with tomatoes and garlic hung from the ceiling and a few bottles of oil sat upon the counter.

She was so engrossed in her surroundings that she nearly jumped, when she felt his hands reach for her, gently pry hers from her chest and pull her against him, chest to chest.

"So, what do you think?" he said, softly, his hands at her hips, stroking her bare skin, his lips centimeters from hers.

Lulu looked down at the sculpted muscles of his abdomen, traced the contours of his chest with her hands, before pushing him, his back flat against the bed.

Dante scooted farther back, his head upon a pillow, as Lulu moved over him, her hands reaching for his shoes and removing them.

"I like it," she whispered against his skin, her lips pressing soft kisses across his abdomen, as her tongue darted from her mouth and disappeared into his belly button.

"Shit," he replied, his body nearly jackknifing from the bed, as her tongue continued to taste him, her teeth leaving tiny love bites on his mid-section.

He reached for her arms, pulling her upward, before twisting sideways and pressing her back against the mattress, stretching her arms above her head.

Dante unbuttoned her jeans, pulled the zipper down slowly, his eyes locked on the sight of Lulu's chest heaving before him. The slower he moved, the more rapid her pulse beat, her sighs louder, as his hand moved lower. She turned her head to the side, her eyes drifting closed and her mouth slightly parted, as his hands delved beneath the band of her jeans, gently caressing the soft skin beneath, before pulling the jeans from her body.

He sucked in his breath. The sight of her in her bra and panties causing his heart to stop, his hands to still upon her body.

She wore a black lacy bra and the sheerest black panties he could have ever imagined, the material like a window, teasing him with the view beyond.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his breath upon her skin, as his mouth pressed against the silky material, his hands holding her firmly to the mattress, her hips pinned on both sides.

"Oh My God," she cried out, as his hands removed the black silk and his mouth claimed her, her hands buried within his hair, as he suckled and kissed his way, heightening her pleasure.

"Not God, Dante," he grinned, kissing his way toward her lips, his mouth coaxing hers open, her very essence on his lips, as he kissed her.

He quickly shed his jeans and boxers, then made quick work of her bra, before pulling the bedspread down and watching her dive beneath the covers.

He laughed, as she tried to hide from him, her body squirming in every direction, as he pretended to let her escape him, before capturing both her body and lips beneath his at the opposite side of the bed.

Lulu's head was at the edge of the bed, her arms at her sides, as he moved over her, his feet resting upon the pillows. His elbows lay on both sides of her, his hands caressing the sides of her face, as he leaned over her, his mouth capturing hers and his knee gently nudging her legs apart, as he settled his weight upon her.

She gasped as he slid into her, one fluid motion, rocking gently against her, like waves pressing upon the sand.

Her knees lifted higher and he pushed deeper, their hips moving quicker,their breathing more ragged, as their upper torsos nearly dangled over the end of the bed, his arms the only thing that kept her from tumbling backward.

She shouted his name, felt his arms pull her close and her body lifted toward him, their bodies still joined. Then her head was upon his pillow, his face next to hers, his rapid breathing against her ear, as she was forced against the mattress, each thrust of his hips spiraling her toward a second ecstasy. She trembled beneath him, her breathing rapid, as she stared into his eyes and watched the euphoric expression on his face as he started to unravel. She felt his control shatter, his head thrown back and his mouth partially open, as her hands pressed tightly against his buttocks, pulling him closer. He shouted, then shuddered, collapsing on top of her.

Dante moved to his back, drawing Lulu against his chest and pulling the blanket over them. He pressed his lips against her forehead, mouthing three words as he drifted to sleep, his arms wrapped contentedly around her.

Lulu Spencer awoke much later, the room dark and Dante sleeping beside her. Something was bothering her, pushing at the back of her mind. Carefully, so as not to awaken him, she lifted his arm from her stomach, turned to the side of the bed and rose, walking toward the bathroom.

She was unsettled. Afeared, as she peered into the mirror of his bathroom. She splashed water over her face, braced her hands on the porcelain sink and lifted her eyes to the mirror once more. The sight that greeted her was not what she expected, the image in front of her unleashing a memory long buried.

_This piece would make an excellent sword, Lulu Spencer thought, looking down at the items in front of her. Mere kitchen utensils to others, but to Lulu Spencer, international spy, they became swords, shields, armor and knives._

_She reached for a small foil pan, her mind imagining it as a shield, when goosebumps appeared on her arms and she felt someone behind her. She turned, the sight of the tall figure, startling her, her mouth open, prepared to scream. His hand covered her mouth, a sickly smell assaulting her, as she felt herself become weak... and then the world went black._

_She awakened to darkness, her hands tied, as she struggled, kicking against a hard surface. The space was small, the surface that she lay on uncomfortable. _

"_Mommy," she whispered in the darkness, as tears streamed down her face. _

"_Be brave, Princess," she heard Daddy say, as she trembled, her eyes trying to adjust to her surroundings._

"_I don't have my bat," she cried, her tiny hiccups causing her body to shudder. _

"_Then make one," she heard him whisper, as a beam of light appeared in front of her, voices penetrating the darkness._

_She moved her hands behind her, desperately searching, her tiny fingers grabbing something. It felt heavy and cold within her hands. She held on tightly, as the lid was pried above her and a bright light spilled within. _

_Hands reached for her, pulling her from the small space, as she kicked her feet and twisted her small body, her hands striking the intruder with her makeshift weapon. _

"_Ouch. The little brat struck me," he shouted, tossing her to his companion and nursing his battered hand._

_Lulu Spencer caught sight of the damage afflicted to his hand, as his friend carried her away, his hand pressed over her mouth. The cold metal pressed against her. He shifted his hand and she saw the strange ring that wrapped around one finger, its design burned into her mind. An Irish Crest. Her family's crest._

"Lulu, baby wake up," Dante said, pressing his lips to her forehead and gently shaking her. Sobs racked her body, her hands trembling at her side, as Dante tried to awaken her.

Her eyes opened and she struggled, punching at his chest with her fists, her eyes wild and desperate.

"Baby, it's me. It's Dante," he shouted, shaking her, refusing to let her go.

"It's me," he whispered, as she collapsed against him, her tears wet upon his chest, as she clung to him tightly.

Dante's hands rubbed up and down her back, his eyes troubled, as gently lifted her gaze toward him, "Talk to me," he said, softly, his eyes misting, as she wrapped her arms around his chest and whispered, her voice broken.

"I know who took me."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 13

I could hear their voices.

A slow murmur at first, the sounds invading my tranquility.

A flash of light.

A strange room with glistening white walls and men in cloaks.

They surrounded me and prodded me with instruments that directed light into my eyes.

My pulse quickened. I became alarmed.

Where was I?

Who were they?

Where was Lulu?

I stared blankly past them, willing them to disappear, focusing my sight on the far wall.

I wanted nothing more than for the intruders to dematerialize into that light, to fade from my sight and give me back my serenity.

I blinked and all became normal once more.

"Mommy?" Lulu said, as I sat down at the table with her.

"Yes, honey?" I replied, a part of me listening for those alien voices, another part still attempting to barr their intrusion, keeping watch through the window for any sign of their return.

"Do you think Daddy likes me?"

"What kind of question is that?" I asked her, turning toward her frowning face, noticing the worry in her sun-kissed eyes.

"He didn't come to my game."

"He was working, Lulu," I said, defending him, "If he could-"

"Maisie Ashton's Dad was there. He's very important. He's the mayor," Lulu sulked, while one foot kicked the table leg and her eyes were downcast, her fingers playing with the blue star in her hand, "Do you think Daddy hates soccer, Mommy?"

"Lulu, honey, your father is...well, complicated. He's still getting used to being in one place," I said, trying to explain, as the shadows reappeared.

My eyes focused on the window, scanning the trees outside the window, searching.

"Mommy, tell me again how you met Daddy," Lulu pleaded, shaking my arm, as her other hand wiped her tear-stained eyes.

"From the beginning?" I laughed, shaking that feeling of being watched, as she giggled.

"Yes, Mommy. The part where you rescued Daddy from the Wicked Witch of the West."

"Lulu, you must have heard this story a hundred times," I said, amused. The spots of light blurring my vision once more.

"I want to hear it again, Mommy. Did you really battle a whole army of flying monkeys?"

My heart soared and the bright lights faded, as I thought back to my first glimpse of the real Luke Spencer, letting my mind drift back to an image of a man who had lived life on the edge, was thrilled by the threat of danger.

"No," I beamed, "It was two armies," I grinned, kissing her on the forehead, forcing the image of the white room from my mind and recalling my mission years ago.

"And you rescued Daddy?" Lulu answered, in amazement.

"And his friend," I whispered, smugly, as the white room faded from my sight.

"Mommy, you must be REALLY strong," Lulu told me, her eyes alight and her mouth parted.

"You are my strength, honey. The best part of me," I told her, pulling her into my arms and hugging her.

It was the truth. Lesley Lu was the best gift that Luke could have ever given me. The answer to our disagreements over settling down and making Port Charles our home. With Lucky, life undercover had been an adventure, one which he saw as a game and played along. I didn't want that for Lulu. Not for my daughter. She deserved stability, a permanent place to call home, to make friends. Life undercover in the WSB couldn't do that for her and I found myself wanting to give her what I couldn't give Lucky. A home. Lulu was the reason I wanted to quit and the beginning of our fights. I wanted out, not Luke. Lulu was my world. I simply couldn't imagine life without her.

"Mommy?" Lulu questioned, invading my thoughts, "Tell me the story."

I smiled, pulled her onto my lap and brushed her nose with my finger, "Once upon a time..."

* * *

Laura Webber sat upon a chair, her fingers interlocked in her lap, as she watched the men argue behind the glass window.

To passersby, she was calm, complacent.

Inside she was seething.

She'd worked hard to get where she was. A woman in a man's world. No arrogant ass, with curly blond hair and a smile that could make you melt, was going to take that away from her. She didn't care how great he looked in those polyester pants.

The man in question paced back and forth, gesturing erratically with his hands, then turned and pointed toward her.

Outta Sight, she thought, her breath catching in her throat, as his eyes locked with hers. He was beyond groovy.

"Hey, What's crackin?" one of the detectives asked, stopping to stand next to her, his hip resting against the side of the desk, as he peered down at her, "I'm Detective Starkman. Friends call me Starsky."

"As in the tv show? Let me guess, he's Hutch," Laura replied, sarcastically, pointing to Luke Spencer.

"Ha Ha," the detective laughed, "Your old man know your hanging around precincts."

"I take care of myself," Laura answered, standing, as Luke Spencer and the Commissioner walked toward the door.

"Far Out,'' the detective nicknamed Starsky, replied, grinning, as Luke Spencer glared at him, sending him on his way.

"You too done jive-talking, or do I need to arm-wrestle someone to get back to work," Laura commented, as Luke looked her over head to toe, taking in her tie-dyed shirt, bell-bottom pants with a macrame belt and her platform heels.

She had long blond tresses that draped her shoulders, with a simple beaded leather band keeping the bangs from her face.

She was a fox, Luke thought, wanting nothing more than to drag her to the nearest disco and get down.

Dynomite, he smiled, grinning, as his gaze narrowed on her hips, the smile leaving his face when he noticed the badge pinned to her pocket.

"You should be behind a desk, not out there," Luke informed her, directing her gaze to the window, "That gun you carry around, it's got real bullets."

"I know," Laura smiled, "I have the highest marks in New York. I don't aim to miss."

"Her scores are top of her class," the commissioner stated, as she smiled.

"We don't shoot at cardboard out there," Luke answered, his eyes centered on her, "the people we're aiming at, they shoot back. Your Daddy, the mayor, can't help you. Not out there."

"Are you afraid?" Laura grinned, grabbing her gun and holstering it, "Don't worry, Hutch. I've got your back."

"This program isn't for women," Luke noted, turning toward the commissioner and taking the file in his hand, "She could be hurt."

"Well, Dude," Laura told Luke Spencer, poking her hand in his chest, "Title VII of the Civil Rights Amendment, says I can."

"Commissioner, come on, man," Luke replied, uncomfortably, "I cannot work with a woman."

"G'day," a man with a strong accent interrupted, moving up along side of Laura, "What's got his grundies in a twist?"

"Agent Scorpio," the Commissioner announced, directing his gaze to Luke Spencer and Laura Webber, "Meet your newest trainees."

"Sheila," Robert Scorpio introduced, kissing her hand, "Actually, it's Laura," she answered with a grin.

"This bloke giving you trouble."

"No worries," Laura answered, as Robert Scorpio grinned back, "Just what I like, a Sheila with no drama."

"Groovy," Laura Webber answered, her smile transforming her face.

"Groovy? Dude, she's a policewoman. She takes calls, files papers, deals with the women in lockup. She doesn't carry a gun and she sure as hell doesn't go undercover," Luke shouted, as Laura Webber looked back at him, her eyes spitting fire.

* * *

"Mommy," Lulu Spencer interrupted, "How come Daddy didn't want you to work with him?"

"He was worried about my safety," Laura answered, smiling, as she recalled her first encounter with Luke Spencer, "It was a different time, Lulu."

"Daddy didn't think you could protect him?" Lulu asked, as her mother grinned back.

"No, honey, Daddy thought that he had to protect me. You see, honey, women were damsels in distress, princesses waiting to be rescued from towers and well, Daddy thought that he had to be my hero. My prince," she told Lulu, who listened intently.

"But, you rescued, Daddy," Lulu answered, resting her chin in her hands, "from the flying monkeys and the evil witch?"

"I guess, I did," Laura chuckled, her memory returning to a mediterranean island and the man she'd suddenly found herself marooned with."

* * *

"The Cassidines are not people you mess with, starry eyes," Luke scolded, standing on a beach, wearing khaki shorts and wielding a stick, "They're murderers, you dig?"

"I know what I'm doing, Luke," Laura answered, her hands wrapped around a sturdy limb, her body covered by a flower-printed sarong that hugged her tanned body.

"Well, let's see what you've learned," Luke demanded, his eyes glued to every delectable inch of her.

He thrust his stick at her, the force of it startling her, sending her feet to stumble a few steps backwards.

She parried back, infuriated by him, her stick striking against his.

Left. Right. Block.

She found herself with the upper-hand, his back to a tree.

Right. Block. Left.

Her stick struck his, splitting in two, as she fell forward, nearly in his arms, a hand breaking her fall. His body overshadowed hers. Stronger. Larger. Nearly encompassing her.

Her pulse raced. His hand reaching for her, sending shivers up her arm. His bare chest with its matted blond hair, a beacon for her eyes.

He twisted her in his arms, the limb pressed against her chest, pinning her against him.

Electricity charged the air, sending a current between them, their pulses escalated, their breathing short.

"What have you learned, Starry Eyes?" Luke whispered against her ear, her senses on overload.

Brains over Brawn, she recalled from class, her hand moving slowly up his arm and causing him to inhale sharply. She pushed back against him, felt his desire and used it to her advantage. Slowly, she stroked the bare skin of his arm, waiting for his grip to lessen and when it did, she hooked her foot around his leg, twisting and catching him off-guard.

Luke felt his body fall toward the hard ground, instinctively turning to shield her from the fall. He landed upon the ground, a large whoof of air exiting his lungs, as she landed atop him. Her hands planted firmly in the soft down of his hairy chest. She paused, her pulse quickening and her tongue peeking from between her lips. She had a sudden desire to press her lips to his, to know what it would feel like to be wrapped in his arms. It unnerved her.

"What have you learned, Agent Spencer?" Laura said softly, her voice nearly a whisper, as she felt his hands snake around her waist, gripping her tightly, before she suddenly found herself upon her back.

"If I were any other man," Luke said harshly, his words against her ear, "your dress would be to your waist," he told her, scissoring his leg between hers and using one hand to push the hem of her sarong upward. He felt the softness of her skin beneath his touch, heard her gasp, as he pressed her toward the ground, one hand locking on her wrists and holding them above her head, "You couldn't stop me."

"Let me go," Lulu ordered, softly, pushing against his strength, but not jarring him one bit.

"What do you do, Laura? How do you fight against my strength?" Luke questioned, pinning her to the ground and lowering his mouth to hers.

"Shit," he yelled, as he felt her knee connect, the pain effectively stopping his advance and releasing his hold on her, as she jumped to her feet, his stick, gripped in her hands.

Luke lay sprawled on the ground, curled into a ball, waiting for the pain to pass.

"Point taken," Laura answered him, standing defiantly above him, as he rolled to a seated position.

"Who the hell taught you how to do that?"

"I had brothers," Laura answered, tossing the stick into the foliage behind them and sitting down on the hard ground, her back against a rock.

She turned her back on Luke Spencer, her eyes watching the waves crash upon the sand, while every other sense focused on Luke Spencer. He was going to kiss her. His lips were just inches-

She pressed her hand against her mouth to stifle her gasp, as she watched the water, willing her nerves to become calm.

Luke Spencer carefully scooted back against another rock, the distance between them several feet. He had never met a more aggravating woman. One that set his blood to boiling and made him want to lock her in the nearest room and toss the key, imprisoning himself inside with her. He spied a bunch of wild flowers to his right and plucked a bright orange one, breaking its stem and handing it to Laura.

"What's this?" she said softly, distrusting, her hand brushing against his, sending tingles up her arm.

"It's a Crocus," Luke shrugged, as she placed it behind her ear, snuggled tight against her hair.

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes misty.

"You, kids, decent," Robert Scorpio announced, grinning, as he breached their campsite, "Damn, hoped you'd be naked as the day you were born," he smiled, looking toward Laura.

"I'm going to see a man about a pipe," Luke informed Robert, walking toward the woods and disappearing within them to relieve himself.

"Check you later," Robert said to Luke's retreating back, "I never thought he'd leave," Robert grinned, as Laura straightened her sarong.

Luke Spencer returned minutes later, his ire increasing by the sound of laughter and the sight of Laura Webber sitting upon a rock, completely enthralled by the story their Australian friend was spewing, the flower he had given her radiant against her tanned skin.

"What's cookin?" Luke questioned, making a point to sit really close to Laura Webber. So close that the hairs on his legs seemed charged with energy when he brushed them against her smooth satin ones.

She paused for a second, the sensation causing her to shiver.

"No worries, starry eyes," Luke whispered, leaning close, "It'll be like taking candies from a baby."

"Laura and I were just going over the plan," Robert informed Luke, feeling like a voyeur at a lover's dalliance, "We'll leave at dusk. You two should get some rest," he told them, walking toward the far side of the clearing and dropping to the grass, closing his eyes.

Luke sank to the ground, scooting his backside against a rock and tossing his shirt behind him for comfort. He patted to the ground next to him, waiting as Laura Webber stood above him.

"I'm not staying here," she forewarned, "not while you two go after her."

"I didn't suppose you would," Luke said softly, as she deliberately put space between them.

"I've heard about you. Your sexy charm," she told him, rolling her eyes and sighing in frustration as her back attempted to find comfort on the hard ground.

"You'd be a lot more comfortable if you'd just give in," Luke told her, grinning, as he gestured to his side.

"She's dangerous," Laura cautioned, noticing the storm brewing in his eyes, hearing the pounding of her pulse, "You can't do this alone. Admit it, you need me."

"Starry eyes, I've never needed anyone. Nearly everything in my life has been solo, the other ten percent," Luke told her, canvassing her body with his eyes, "your too innocent to learn."

"You could teach me," Laura Webber whispered, the words out of her mouth before she could stop them, "I'm a good student."

Shit, Luke thought, knowing fully well, she was referring to their impending plan to infiltrate the castle and not Luke indoctrinating her in the finer points of seduction. But, hell, the images of her beneath him, his skin flush with hers, was sending a jolt of electricity through him that was threatening to unman him. He shifted upon the ground, turning away and blocking her gaze, as he adjusted himself.

"Go to sleep, Starry Eyes," he ordered, keeping watch over her, as her eyes drifted closed and he listened to the sound of her steady breathing and the rise and fall of her chest.

* * *

"Mommy, did you storm the castle with Daddy?" Lulu asked, as her mother reached for the pencil and paper upon the table and placed them on the counter nearby.

She saw the shadows dart past the window once more, the light in the room suddenly becoming brighter and she reached for Lulu and gripped her tighter.

"Mommy, I can't breathe," Lulu told her, with a muffled voice.

"Hush, baby," Laura told her, holding her close, protectively in her arms.

"Mrs. Spencer," she heard a man call her name, distant, but clear as a bell.

"Just ignore him, baby," Laura whispered, her body trembling, as she clutched her daughter tighter.

"Mrs. Spencer," he said again, as Laura felt her arms become lighter.

"Mommy," she heard Lulu question softly, her voice becoming distant, "Mommy?"

"Baby, I'm here," Laura promised her, rocking her body, as she looked down, her daughter no longer in her arms.

"Lulu?" Laura said softly, the tears falling from her eyes, "Lulu."

"Welcome back, Mrs. Spencer," the man told her, shining a light into her eyes, as a woman at her side poked and prodded her skin.

"Where am I?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Just a teaser. Promise to update this fic more soon. Enjoy. Hugs from the desert.**

Chapter 14

Lulu Spencer awoke a bit disorientated to the smell of tomato sauce and garlic. She rubbed her hazel eyes and sat up on the couch, her eyes glancing downward and spying the throw blanket that covered her. She pushed it aside and shifted her legs until she was facing the cause of her sleep's interruption.

He moved about the kitchen, darting from a pot upon the stove to a cutting board with a colorful display of vegetables. She watched him cut a few peppers and add them to the pot, then turn back to the cutting board and crush a few cloves of garlic, adding them to the pot.

He was humming a tune, the words obscure, as she eavesdropped, a smile spreading upon her face.

It was the image of a person with all walls removed. Secure in the fact that they were alone, even for just a moment, unjudged.

Lulu pressed her hand to her mouth, stifling the giggle that threatened to burst from within, as he stirred the sauce, his hips moving to the beat of the music.

The sauce spattered staining his tee shirt and he muttered something under his breath, setting the spoon upon the counter and reaching for the hem of his shirt, tearing it from his body.

Gobsmacked- that was what she was, Lulu realized, her hand remaining upon her mouth, unable to contain the soft whisper that escaped her lips. She had no idea how long she sat, transfixed, her eyes glued to his chiseled chest.

Seconds. Minutes.

_Holy Mary…_

Every inch of that was hers.

If'n she wanted it.

He reached across the counter for a towel, blotting at some invisible speck on his chest and her heart beat faster, her parched lips parting, as she imagined herself closing the distance between them and replacing that towel with her mouth.

"Sleep well?" Dante asked, interrupting her dangerous thoughts, as a red hue spread across her face.

His head was tilted downward, as he wiped at something and threw the towel across the kitchen, the cloth landing in the far corner, near the bread basket.

"Feck," Lulu whispered, shaking the images from her head and rising to her feet. The room spun for a second and she placed her hand against the side of her head, one moment standing alone and the next in Dante's embrace.

"Hey, easy there, baby. Why don't you sit down?" Dante suggested, concern on his face, as he nudged her toward a seated position on the couch and then raced toward the refrigerator, returning with a bottle of water.

"You've had a rough couple of days. You need to rest."

He waited until she took a few swallows, his hand brushing a few strands of blonde hair from her face, his concern replaced by relief, when her skin's pallor returned to normal.

"Better?"

"Much," Lulu replied softly, closing her eyes and letting the brush of his fingertips create a heated wave of sensation that traveled from the top of her head to the soles of her feet. He was so close, she could inhale the male essence of him. No cologne, just a heady aroma that reminded her of an Irish moor.

She inhaled deeper, her nostrils awakening, imagining him in the midst of that wild landscape.

The waves crashing upon the rocks, the lush green of the landscape wet beneath their feet, and…

Smoke?

"Shit," Dante exclaimed, jumping from his seated position and running toward the kitchen. He turned off the burner and glanced down at the charred pasta sauce, a frown upon his face, as he used a hot pad to transfer the pot to the sink. A clamor sounded in the kitchen, mixed with a few muttered curses, as he poured water into the pot.

"Well…fuck," Dante uttered, running one hand through his hair in frustration.

Lulu released a giggle, soft at first, then louder, as several more expletives left his mouth.

"Hey, this is not funny," Dante laughed, pleased to see her eyes alit with humor, her face practically glowing, "I'll have you know, that until today, I have NEVER burned anything in my life."

"I doona believe you," Lulu smiled, pulling a hair band from her wrist and pulling her blonde hair into a ponytail.

"Here, let me," Dante asked, moving toward her and taking the elastic band from her fingertips.

"I love your hair. The smell and taste of it," he told her, pressing his face within it.

She heard him breathe in her aroma and then felt the brush of his fingers against her forehead, as his fingers combed through her hair, straightening the strands and pulling them behind her into one long single mass of golden tresses, twisting the hair band within his fingers and securing her hair.

"Beautiful. No, intoxicating," Dante said, smiling.

His fingers traced the length of the ponytail, moving upward toward a few errant strands that had escaped and tucked them behind her ears. His eyes were dark with emotion, his fingers lingering for a few seconds, before tapping her nose gently and laughing when he heard the sound of his stomach rumble.

"I don't suppose you eat pizza in Ireland?" Dante said, grinning, as he glanced toward the sink and what was left of his Italian surprise.

"Pizza?," Lulu said softly, her hand trailing down his arm and falling to rest easily atop his, their fingers entwining.

"I doona suppose you have an Irish local close by," Lulu asked.

"Like a pub? Paddy-O's is just up the road, on Baker Street," Dante noted, his eyebrow raised, "Hungry?"

"Famished," Lulu answered, leaning over and kissing Dante softly on the lips.

"We could order Colcannon," Lulu told him, as his lips brushed the side of her face, the warmth of his breath at her ear.

"Colcannan?" Dante asked softly, tugging on her earlobe, as Lulu tried to focus on the ceiling fan above her and not on the feelings that erupted when he touched her.

His arms pinned her to the couch, his body pressed against hers, his lips moving further south on her neck, toward her breasts covered by the tee shirt he loaned her.

"Mashed potatoes and kale," she answered him, while her hands found their way up his back, rubbing and pressing him against her and encouraging his actions.

"What?" Lulu questioned, as he sat up, his face displaying a grimace.

"That sounds horrible," Dante commented, his hands upon her breasts, his fingers teasing the nipples and causing them to harden.

One hand moved to caress the side of her face, as he leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips. She moved closer, ready to retaliate, when he broke away, pulling her to her feet.

"I have an idea," Dante exclaimed, jumping from the couch and reaching for the phone, "What you need is melted mozzarella," Dante told her, "Tomato sauce with garlic and oregano," he continued, pressing his lips to hers, "Mm. God, I can almost smell it."

"You doona like Irish food?" Lulu asked him, one hand dropping from his waist to rest upon her hips.

"I ate the Irish stew," Dante reminded her, cringing when he thought of how heavy it was.

"Hm," Lulu responded, sounding irritated.

"You can drag me to an Irish…what did you call it?" Dante questioned.

"Local," Lulu answered, flashing him a perturbed look.

"That's it. Tomorrow," Dante suggested, punching a few numbers into the phone and placing it against his ear, "Hey, Sal, it's Dante. Good to hear you too. I need to order some pizza," he glanced over, pressing his hand against the receiver, "Do you like anchovies?"

Lulu shook her head, no.

"Sausage?" Dante asked.

Lulu nodded, yes.

"Pepperoni and sausage. What? No, Ma isn't sick. Uncle Sal, she's fine. We're not fighting. Do I have a girl over? What am I fifteen? No, I don't want you to call Ma. Look, Uncle Sal, can't a guy order a couple pizzas without getting the third degree?"

Lulu grinned, watching Dante squirm on the phone, pressing the receiver against his chest and turning toward her with a look of irritation.

"What?" Lulu asked, as he reluctantly handed her the phone.

"He wants to talk to you."

* * *

"How long has she been awake?" the doctor asked, looking down at a chart.

"Twenty, maybe thirty minutes. She isn't responding to our questions. She seems confused," the orderly stated, glancing at his notes, "Perhaps we should give her a sedative?"

"A sedative? She just awakened from a twenty year coma and you want to give her something to make her sleep?" the doctor questioned, pushing the orderly aside, "I'll see her now."

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, catching the gaze of the blonde within.

"Mrs. Spencer, I'm Dr. Laureys. How do you feel? Any blurriness?" he asked, pulling up a chair and flashing a light in her eyes.

"I'm a little shaky," Laura responded, as the man poured liquid from a pitcher into a glass and handed it to her.

She stared at the translucent liquid, her thoughts swimming in her head, as she peered down at the water, gently rocking the plastic cup and watching the water swish back and forth.

"I thought you were thirsty," the man told her, as she lifted her gaze back to him.

"Where am I?" Laura questioned, her guard up, as she analyzed his every move.

"We'll get to that soon enough. Tell me what you remember," he ordered, grabbing his notepad and pen.

"You work for them?" she commented, taking in his white uniform, the name tag that supported his name. A notepad that at the moment was marked with his jagged script, letters that could very well be encrypted, a tool to gather intelligence.

"Work for whom?" the man asked her, leaning closer, his pen perched upon the pad, ready and waiting for her response.

"The ones that took my daughter," Laura answered, searching the room for any kind of weapon. She looked around her, studied the white walls and the minimal decorations and stopped only when she caught sight of an object on a corner nightstand.

"I know…" she began, her eyes beginning to mist, as she focused on the photograph_. _It was oftwo children: one older boy with spiked hair on top and longer hair in the back and a young girl with a blonde ponytail, wearing a soccer uniform. She sat up straighter, a calm, collected posture reflected in her body. Her children. They had a picture of her children.

"What do you know?" the man questioned, his pen moving a mile a minute upon the paper.

"What is this place? Where is Luke? Lulu? Lucky?" she demanded, an angry tone escaping, as she impatiently wrung her hands together, struggling to rise from the rocking chair.

"Relax. You're safe here, Mrs. Spencer. I promise," he told her, placing his hands upon her shoulders and pressing her back into the chair.

"Your family is here," he told her, trying to reassure her.

"Here? Lulu too?" Laura asked, her voice quieter.

She could reach for the pen. It was close enough to grab. He would never know what hit him.

An image appeared before her, pigtails bouncing left to right, as the little girl bobbed her head. A light dusting of freckles marked her nose and cheeks, illuminated by the light in her daughter's hazel eyes. Laura smiled, tears welling within her eyes.

"I want to see her. Bring her to me," Laura commanded, her tone stern.

Lulu. She was safe. She was here.

* * *

"You doona want to go," Lulu questioned, escaping his embrace and entering the bedroom, moving toward his dresser.

"Irish pubs? I love a good Guinness, but singing?" Dante replied, rubbing his stomach in gratification, as he thought of the entire pizza and a half they had eaten.

"I can't believe you are still hungry. You ate four slices," Dante reminded, smiling.

"I doona want to go to for food, Dante. The music…"

"Music? We have music here," Dante told her, rifling through his cds, "I have the classics. A little Springsteen, Billy Idol, some Sinatra, Michael Jackson. Maroon Five? I've been looking all over for this," Dante grinned, setting it aside.

"So, what'll it be?" he asked, as Lulu looked at him, raising her eyebrow.

"You willna know if you like it until you try," Lulu told him, opening a drawer and tossing a white shirt and a pair of dark jeans in his direction, "Irish ballads like Danny Boy, Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye and Seven Old Ladies."

"Seven Old Ladies? Are you sure this is a pub?" Dante laughed, as Lulu playfully slugged him in the arm.

"Are you afeared, Dante? I doona believe you can handle an Irish jingle."

"Afeared. Hah. I'm not afraid of anything," Dante assured her, pulling the white shirt over his head and reaching for the jeans.

"We will see," Lulu replied, with a grin, pushing Dante from the room, so that she could get dressed.

"Hey-" Dante shouted, as the door closed in his face. He turned, a grin upon his face, as he ran his hand through his hair.

An Irish pub. Uncle Sal would never let him hear the end of it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 15**

Winifred paced back and forth outside the compound, scanning her surroundings for eavesdroppers, as she waited for the caller on the other end to pick up.

"Winnifred, are you coming?" Damien Spinelli asked from the doorway of the club, holding the door ajar.

"One minute," she promised, waiting for the door to close behind him.

"We have a problem," she whispered, pressing her lips to the mouthpiece, "Our nightengale has flown her nest."

"I don't like problems, Winnie. I trust you are handling it?" he asked, his tone one of disappointment.

"I'm your daughter, of course I'm on it. No worries. I have a plan that will have our little bird back in no time."

"I'm pleased to hear that, Winnie. I have special plans for our nightengale," he said, disconnecting the call. He pressed a button on his desk and a voice filled the room.

"Yes, sir?" the voice asked, as the Balkin sat back in his black leather chair, scratching his chin.

"Aengus, bring our guest to me," the Balkin ordered, one hand rubbing his bald head. As much as he loved his daughter, Winnifred, life had taught him to trust no one, and so he would set his own plan of action to recover his Irish bird.

* * *

Luke Spencer sat upon the hard stone floor, his back pressed against the limestone, as he reached for the small pebble, lifting it to the walls that had become his prison.

Day thirty-one, he surmised, marking the wall with a line.

He knew that his body was slowly succumbing to his surroundings, the stank of his odor invading his nostrils, the pain of his limbs increasing due to lack of movement and the faint noise in his stomach indicating his need for fuel.

He glanced over to his left, noticing the remains of his meal, a piece of bread, a moldy piece of cheese and something dark and sinister looking. A mug that hadn't seen the inside of a dishwasher in months was directly to the left of the plate, its contents putrid.

From the corner of one eye, Luke glimpsed a small shadow, slowly moving toward his dinner, soon joined by more dark shadows.

Rats.

They converged on the plate, their jagged teeth sinking into the feast, the greasy contents dripping from their mouths.

Luke felt nauseous, turned his eyes away from their sight, but could still hear them feeding.

His stomach rumbled, an irritation at this point, as he struggled with his instinct to survive and the absolute disgust he felt at the thought of that sludge filling his stomach.

His empty stomach.

Instinct won and he turned toward the plate, using his hand to swat one rat aside, stealing the chunk of bread.

He broke a few pieces off the top, tossing it toward the rats, who scurried toward it.

His stomach rumbled again and he placed the bread against his lips, parting them and breaking into the hard crust with his teeth.

Stale.

He knew it would be, the taste like cardboard on his tongue, as he continued to chew, reluctantly swallowing, forcing the food down his throat. Once it hit bottom, he became insatiable, the taste no longer an issue, as his survival instincts won.

He pulled the plate and mug toward him, pushing the rats aside, as he grabbed the moldy cheese and meat. He placed the meat against his nostrils, the scent turning his stomach. He threw it toward the rats, leaving the questionable protein toward them and focused on the cheese and bread.

His nails scraped across the cheese, removing the moldy parts, as he closed his eyes. It was easier to eat this way, imagining that he was sitting down to dinner with his wife and kids, a large buffet of goodness before him, rather than the garbage he was inhaling at the moment.

His wife. His kids.

He would give anything to see Laura and Lucky, to tell his son how proud he was of him, to sit down upon the bed beside his wife's rocking chair, hold her hand and watch her awaken.

And his daughter...

Lulu.

He could picture her freckled angel face in his head, her eyes bright as stars, her hand clutching his, gazing adoringly at him.

He wiped the moisture from beneath his eyes and reached deep inside his torn shirt, searching for the hidden pocket. His fingers brushed upon the button, buried beneath cotton and he grasped it in his hand, retrieving it.

It was a small square, folded several times over. Carefully, he unfolded it, his hands gentle. Slowly her image became visible: her golden hair, her hazel eyes.

He would give anything for one moment with her, just a second of her time.

The young woman in the photograph stared back at him, features reminiscent of his wife and hazel eyes that beckoned him with their haunting presence.

He had been searching for so long, his heart aching to hold her in his arms, to see her beautiful face.

His fingers caressed the photo, his heart stopping in his chest, as he heard a noise outside the wooden door. Quickly he refolded the photo and tucked it away for safekeeping.

"Good, you've eaten. You'll need your strength," the guard told him, dragging him to his feet and shoving him toward the doorway, "He has a lot of questions for you. If you want to live, you better have answers."

* * *

Dante Falconeri had been to a lot of bars in his life, but not one of them had caused his pulse to quicken or his knees to quiver.

"I don't know about this, baby. Are you sure that you don't want to go to that sports bar we saw on King Street? We could order some wings, a couple of beers..."

"If'n you want to know me, Dante," Lulu told him, nudging him into the pub, "you be needing to embrace every Irish part of me."

"But, Lulu, they're singing," Dante said, turning to her and cringing, "We don't have to..."

"Feck yeah," she answered, grinning. Dante's face was turning green, as he scanned the pub, the loud, boisterous audience competing with the man that sat upon the stage, guitar in hand.

"Keep your alans on, Dante," Lulu laughed, pulling him toward the bar.

"My what?" Dante answered.

"A bit of Irish fare and a pint or two-" Lulu continued.

"I'm not singing, Lulu," Dante replied, adamantly, waiting for Lulu to take a stool at the bar, before taking a seat beside her.

"What'll it be, fella?" the stocky, red-headed man asked from behind the bar.

"I don't suppose you have any Bismarks?" Dante asked, peering at the pins and shields that lined the mirror of the bar. Policeman's patches and buttons, as well as firemen too, from every precinct around the country.

The bartender placed a Guinness in front of Dante, "You'll thank me later. And you, Colleen?"

"It's Lulu," Dante informed the man.

"I doona suppose you have a Blarney Stone?" Lulu asked the bartender, as his eyebrows rose.

"One Blarney Stone cocktail coming up," he answered, with a cocky grin, pouring two ounces of Irish Whiskey into a mixing glass, alongwith Anisette and Triplesec. He added some Maraschino liquor and a dash of bitters and then strained the concoction into a chilled glass.

"Lulu? What kind of Irish name is that, Colleen?" the bartender said, smiling, as he placed an olive in her glass and leaned forward, elbows on the bar.

"I doona want to bore you-" she started to say, as Dante interrupted.

"Baby, why don't we look for a table," Dante suggested, his eyes roaming the packed bar for two seats.

None.

"You two?" the bartender asked, pointing at the two of them.

"No," Lulu answered.

"Yes," Dante assured, reaching for her hand.

"Ah," the bartender noted, looking at Lulu and then back to Dante, "Doona forget to get your Colleen an Irish tattoo."

"Tattoo?" Dante asked, curiously, as Lulu dragged him from the bar.

A group of men beckoned her toward them, patting a few empty seats beside them, as the man returned on stage, sat upon his stool and adjusted his microphone.

"Hi, name's Sean," he welcomed, hand outstretched to Lulu. His hand held Lulu's much too long, his fingers brushing the top of her hand, as Dante frowned, reluctantly shaking the man's hand next.

Lulu sat down in the chair and Dante sat next to her, pulling her seat closer toward him and placing his arm around her shoulders.

He took a swig of his beer and turned back to Lulu.

"So?" he asked, as she turned to him with a questioning look.

"What?" she said, her eyes sparkling, as she listened to the jovial crowd.

"Irish tattoo?"

"The Irish Claddaugh," Lulu replied, taking a sip of her cocktail before continuing.

"When I stood no more than knee-high to my Da, he gave my Mammy a small black box to celebrate the day she was born. An Irish Claddaugh on a chain."

Lulu turned to face Dante, their knees touching, as she shared her past with Dante.

"A promise ring," Dante commented, taking her hand, as Lulu smiled.

"It's about an Irish man-" Lulu started to say, as Dante grinned, placing his finger against her lips and brushing it across the bottom lip.

"When I was working for the NYPD, one of my fellow officers bought his girlfriend a promise ring," Dante interjected, dropping his hand and rubbing the top of her wrist with the pad of his finger.

"Who's telling this story?" she laughed, placing her finger against his lips, as he pulled her closer.

"He said that an Irish man long ago was engaged to be married, but he was captured by pirates. When he returned, he found that she was still single. He created a ring for her of three symbols," Lulu continued, stroking the top of Dante's hand, "the first was a pair of hands, which symbolized friendship," she said, tracing an image on his skin.

Dante's pulse quickened, as he listened to her tale, his eyes turning a shade of dark chocolate.

"They held a heart that meant love," she told him, leaning closer. Her finger glided across his skin, her touch tantalizing, as she drew a heart.

"On top of the heart he placed a crown for loyalty," Lulu shared, her thumb creating an invisible crown above the heart and hands."

She paused, her eyes locked on his hand, a smile upon her face. She shrugged her shoulders, her eyes downcast, as she said softly, "In Ireland the heart beats as strongly apart, as when together. Lover's are mischievous and romantic," Lulu gushed, directing her eyes to the old man on the stage, "Love is magic."

"Magic, huh," Dante replied, as Lulu leaned forward captivated by Irish music that flowed about the room. Her eyes were misty, as she drew her straw into her mouth and sipped her cocktail.

Dante averted his eyes to his right and spied a woman next to them, a piece of paper upon her skin, as a young man pressed a wet cloth upon it.

"Excuse me, where did you get that?" he whispered, as she tapped the person beside her and handed the fake tattoo and a wet cloth to Dante. He held it in his hands and smiled. The image was perfect. He tucked it inside his pocket and shifted his chair closer to Lulu's, unsure what to expect next.

"My name is Daniel Ryan," he announced, strumming his guitar and glancing at his captive audience, "I'm here to entertain, to strum me guitar and to get flummoxed," he shouted, holding his beer high, as the crowd echoed his sentiments.

"If'n you doona like-" he bellowed, scanning the crowd, Well, then…."

"Feck off," he and the crowd shouted in unison.

Daniel Ryan took a long swallow of his beer and settled on a dark-haired Colleen seated in the corner, sipping on a pink fruity drink and flanked on both sides by two girlfriends.

"What's your name, gurl?" Daniel asked, pointing in her direction.

"Erin," she said softly, as her friends cheered and her face turned red.

"Erin," he answered, his voice rising, "A strong, Irish name. I knew an Erin once," he continued, as out of the crowd a man yelled, "Bullshit!"

"I doona lie," he grinned, beginning to play his guitar, "She was with six old ladies. They were locked in a lavat'ry."

"Bullshit," the entire crowd shouted once more.

"No, really. They were there from Sunday 'till Saturday. Do you want to hear the story, or not?" he questioned, with a cocky grin, beginning to sing.

_Oh, dear, what can the matter be_

_Seven old ladies got locked in the lavat'ry_

_They were there from Sunday 'till Saturday_

_Nobody knew they were there._

_Tra la la_

_Tra la la, _the audience echoed.

_Tra la la_

_Tra la la, _the audience sang again.

_Tra la la la la la la._

"Bullshit," someone from the audience muttered.

"Bullshit," Daniel Ryan replied, whispering in a soft, feminine voice, "You can do better than that," he shouted.

_They were there from Sunday 'till Saturday_

_Nobody knew they were there._

_Tra la la_

_Tra la la, _the audience echoed.

_Tra la la_

_Tra la la, _the audience sang again.

_Tra la la la la la la._

"Bullshit," the crowd screamed.

_The first old lady was Erin Flynn_

_She prided herself on being quite thin_

_But when she sat down, the poor dear fell in_

_Nobody knew she was there._

_Tra la la_

_Tra la la, _the audience echoed.

_Tra la la_

_Tra la la, _the audience sang again.

_Tra la la la la la la._

"Bullshit," Lulu and the crowd screamed, startling Dante.

_The next to come in was old Mrs. Humphrey_

_She shifted and jiggled to get herself comfy_

_She tried to get up, but she couldn't get her bum free_

_And nobody knew she was there._

_Tra la la_

_Tra la la, _Dante echoed.

_Tra la la_

_Tra la la, _Dante, Lulu and the audience sang again.

_Tra la la la la la la._

"Bullshit," Dante yelled along with Lulu and the crowd.

_The third old lady was Mrs. Hart_

_Every two minutes, to the toilet she'd dart._

_But when she got there, all she did was…._

"Ha ha," Dante laughed, as the old man continued, "_Nobody knew she was there_."

_Tra la la_

_Tra la la, _Dante echoed.

_Tra la la_

_Tra la la, _Dante, Lulu andthe audience sang again.

_Tra la la la la la la._

"Bullshit," Dante bellowed, as the old man turned in his direction.

"Boisterous fellow, aren't you?" he heckled, continuing to strum his guitar, "What's your name, gurl?" he asked, pointing in Lulu's direction.

"Ciar…..Lulu," she answered, as he looked back at her with a quizzical expression.

"You sure?" he laughed, turning his head toward the bartender, "An Irish Whiskey," he shouted.

"I doona need another," Lulu informed him, peering down at her half-empty cocktail.

"The whiskey is for me, Colleen," he chuckled, continuing to play his guitar, "Hm..Lulu?"

"Spencer," Dante supplied, as Lulu nudged him in the side with her elbow.

"Spencer," Daniel Ryan repeated, pausing, as he looked toward Lulu.

_The fourth old lady was Lulu Spencer,_

_She don't get around any more like she usedter_

_When she sat down she said somebody goosed her_

_And nobody knew he was there_, Daniel sang, pointing at Dante.

"Ha ha," Dante laughed, as Lulu glared back at him.

_Tra la la_

_Tra la la, _Dante and Lulu echoed.

_Tra la la_

_Tra la la, _Dante, Lulu and the audience sang again.

_Tra la la la la la la._

"Bullshit," Lulu shouted to Dante.

Several minutes later, after the old man's set was finished, Dante reclined in his chair, his hand clutching his side, "I cannot remember a time that I have ever laughed this much," he told her, grinning.

The old man had left the stage and the bar was winding down, as its patrons slowly started to exit the pub.

"I knew you'd like it," Lulu boasted, as Dante leaned over and kissed her on the lips. His mouth brushed against hers, causing her pulse to race and shivers to move up and down her spine.

"Ready?" Lulu asked him, as Dante started to pull something from his pocket, "Almost. Move closer."

"Where did you-" Lulu complied, as Dante pushed her strap off of her and placed the square sheet of paper against her skin.

He used a glass of water on the table to wet the cloth, saturating it and then placed it against the paper, pressing down.

"Your story inspired me," Dante replied, removing the cloth and using his hand to imprint her upper arm.

Gently, he peeled back a corner of the image, the portion of the Celtic circle appearing first, then the crown and one hand. As he peeled it all of the way off, the heart, second hand and the remaining circle became visible.

"What is it?" Lulu asked him, as he blew on the image, his thumb brushing the skin on her arm.

"Your Irish Claddaugh," Dante answered, kissing her on the lips and pulling her to her feet, "Friendship, love and loyalty."

"Dante-" Lulu began, her eyes tearing.

Dante took her hands in his, entwining their fingers, "No matter what happens, Lulu, I'm here. If you're scared, or you just need a safe place to call home- my arms will hold you. My hands will keep your heart safe. That's my promise," Dante assured her, wrapping her in his arms, "I love you and I'm not going anywhere."

Lulu Spencer hugged him tightly, her cheeks wet from tears and her vision beginning to blur, as she wiped her eyes with her hand. With all of her heart, she believed his every word, his embrace swaying her to trust him completely. But, in the back of her head, a small voice was whispering, was reminding her what trust cost: the danger of loving someone. She hugged him tighter, desperately, as her heart tried to silence the voice within her mind.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 16

"What do you remember, Ms. Spencer?" Dr. Laureys questioned, his pen poised upon the pad.

"I want to see my daughter," Laura repeated, her voice firm. Stronger.

"Soon," the doctor assured her, sitting up straighter. His eyes peered at the paper, squinting and she watched his brow furrow, as he seemed to study whatever was on that page.

"Where is she?" Laura asked softly, clasping her hands tightly and resting them upon her lap.

The man stood, holding the pad in his hand, as he began to pace. Back and forth across the room, his feet barely shuffling upon the floor.

"Tell me, Ms. Spencer," Dr. Laureys inquired, turning toward her, his gaze pinning her back against the chair, "What is your last memory of Miss Spencer? Do you feel-"

"My last memory?" Laura answered, alarmed, her hands grasping the sides of the chair and pushing her to her feet.

She felt unsteady for a few seconds, her legs shaky, as she stood beside the chair, using her hands for support.

"Has something happened to Lulu?" Laura continued, her eyes fearful, the light-colored orbs darkening as anger took over.

"Do you believe that something has happened to Miss Spencer?" Dr. Laureys questioned, his tone becoming an irritation to her- chalk upon a board.

"Her name is Lulu," Laura informed him, wringing her hands together, as a slow ache built within her head.

"We were telling stories," Laura smiled, one hand rubbing the side of her head, "I was telling stories."

"Stories?" Dr. Laureys asked, writing on his pad.

"Of how I met her father," Laura continued, a slow grin appearing on her face. She turned toward the door and peered through the glass window, the expression on her face changing from rose-colored warmth to the haunting ashe grey of cold.

"The Balkin," Laura whispered, her eyes glazed with fear and her hands trembling.

"I don't understand, Ms. Spencer," Dr. Laureys questioned, "Did he know your daughter?"

"He knew Helena," Laura said quietly, moving toward the nearest wall, her back toward it. Her eyes stared straight ahead, as she slid toward the floor, her hands cradling her face. Tears streamed down her face, the memories projecting across her eyes, as sharp and clear, as if they were yesterday. The pain too, pierced throughout her chest, its intensity staggering. She closed her eyes and let the images come. Each color slide a knife to her heart.

_Laura Spencer sat behind her husband's desk, a coat draped over her shoulders. A small gesture from one of the officers. All around her, she watched the uniforms- their movements in slow motion- a silent film- one without subtitles. _

_She pulled the jacket tighter, the coldness that had taken over, spreading throughout her body. She felt numb. Confused. _

_Why weren't they doing anything? _

_Eyes filled with tears scanned her surroundings- the desks littered with case files, the one wall covered with photographs and notes secured by pins._

_Years earlier, the very sight would cause a slow burn inside her, an eagerness to take the tiniest bit of evidence and turn it into the ember that ignited a raging fire, a need to right the wronged. _

_Now, she felt only bitterness. An anger so profound that it settled deep within her bones. _

"_Have you heard anything?" she asked the blue uniform that placed a styrofoam cup in front of her. She watched the steam rise from its depth, her hands reaching for the cup, its dark liquid hot beneath her touch._

_The blue uniform shook her head, her eyes filled with compassion, as she reached for Laura's hand. _

_Laura pulled back, wrapping her hands about her waist and brushed off the officer's comfort._

_She didn't need their empathy._

_She goddamned needed them to do something. Anything. _

_Dozens of cases were scattered about these desks._

_Hundreds of photographs were buried between the pages of the files and pinned to the walls._

_But, only one mattered._

_Only one was priority._

_Only one._

_So, why couldn't they find...something._

"_Starry eyes?" she heard whispered, her head turning toward the left._

"_It took you long enough," Laura responded with contempt, her eyes dark with pain, her voice crumbling with each choking sob, "He...he took...her."_

"_We'll find her," Luke promised, sitting beside his wife, his face ashen, as he reached for his wife._

"_Don't touch me," Laura demanded, wrapping her arms tighter._

"_Laura? Honey-" _

"_You did this," Laura whispered, tears streaming down her face, "All of this is your fault."_

"_I thought you were safe," Luke answered, guilt assuaging him._

"_Safe?" Laura laughed, her tone one of desperation, a crazy look within her eyes, "You promised, Luke. You swore that... that life...that danger. You said it was in the past, Luke."_

"_I'm sorry. It was only supposed to be one last case. Laura if you only knew what we found-"_

"_You SWORE," Laura shouted, pushing him, all the anger and hurt welling to the surface._

"_Starry Eyes," Luke cried out, grasping her within his arms and pressing her close, "We'll find her. I promise. Robert has already alerted his contacts at the WSB-"_

"_His contacts? The WSB?" Laura said softly, "They're why Lulu is gone."_

"_You," Laura pointed, pressing her finger into his chest, as she broke from his embrace, "Robert...you..every one of YOU caused this."_

"_Laura," Luke responded, using his hand to wipe the tears from her eyes, "I'm going to find her. I promise-"_

"_Like you promised Lulu you would go to her soccer game? She was devastated. Or, how last week we made plans to go to the park. I helped her pick out a new kite. Broken promises, Luke," Laura answered, her voice cold._

"_I had a case,Robert needed-" _

"_Robert needed. How about what your family needs. You always have a case, Luke. It's your excuse for everything. You swore you'd protect us. You promised me. You promised her," Laura sobbed, clutching the small photograph in her hand, "You lied."_

"_Lukas?"a blue uniform called out, interrupting Laura's grief, a fax clutched within his hands._

"_Did you find something, Hollister?" Luke asked, rising from his seat. Luke placed his hand on Laura's shoulder, the only comfort he could provide at the moment, before walking toward his friend and fellow officer._

"_I'm sorry, Lukas. Just another dead end. I thought for sure-"_

"_Nothing? She has to be behind this, Hollister-"_

"_She?" Laura asked, standing beside Luke and reaching for the paper in his hand._

"_You're having Helena Cassidine trailed? What does she have to do with Lulu's disappearance?" Laura demanded, her tone desperate._

"_We don't know yet. It's just a hunch. Robert-"_

"_A hunch? The Balkin's face is all over the news. A man who the media says is involved with...with human trafficking. He takes our daughter...our Lulu, our baby, Luke. He grabs her in broad daylight. A grocery store, Luke!" Laura shouted, causing the blue uniforms in the room to turn in their direction, all conversation stopping._

"_He took her...he took her from MY ARMS, Luke," Laura screamed, punching him in the chest, "AND YOU...YOU ARE CHASING HELENA!"_

"_He worked for her," Luke shouted back, "Robert and I discovered it in Ireland. If we find her-"_

"_It's never going to stop, is it?" Laura cried, raising her arms in the air in frustration._

"_After all this time. You are putting your hatred for that WITCH over your own daughter."_

"_She's behind this. I KNOW IT!" Luke bellowed, pointing his finger at his chest._

"_THIS," Laura yelled, pressing the fax against his chest, "says she isn't. She was nowhere near Port Charles. She wasn't even in the country, Luke."_

"_She did this, Laura. We just have to keep following-"_

"_You don't see it. Do you, Luke? Your daughter. Our daughter is gone. She is alone. ALONE, Luke," Laura shouted, tears falling down her face, her eyes wild._

"_She's probably scared," Laura whispered, her weakened limbs sliding onto the floor, one hand gripping the leg of the chair behind her, "And all you can think of...all you give a damn about... is your precious, Helena. I wish...I wish I'd never gone to that island," she sobbed, wrapping her arms about her shoulders and pressing her face against her chest._

"I wish I'd never gone-" Laura Spencer sobbed, her fists pressing against his chest.

"Ms. Spencer, it's Dr. Laureys. Ms. Spencer?" he spoke louder, breaking through her memories.

Laura Spencer felt the cold press of the wall against her back, as she slowly rocked back and forth, her arms like manacles around her. Images continued to assail her, most snapshots of her daughter's smiling face, laughter erupting from her chest, as they giggled over fairytales. Those offered her comfort, a bit of respite from the darkness that surrounded her, but some were the faces she remembered from the news. Other people's children that never came home. The photos she saw on the side of milk cartons. The milk cartons that carried her Lulu's face.

Her Lulu.

Her baby.

"Lulu," Laura whispered, continuing to rock. She barely registered the slight prick of the needle. A twinge of discomfort in a body filled with pain. A few moments later the darkness shrouded her once more.

* * *

"I feel horrible," Dante exclaimed, collapsing upon the bedcovers, as Lulu began to pull the shoes from his feet.

"You doona need to prove anything to me, Dante," Lulu informed him, tossing the remaining shoe on the floor and covering him with a blanket from the end of the bed.

"I wasn't trying to-"

Lulu Spencer pressed a finger against his lips, effectively silencing his next words, while one hand brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.

"Yank, if'n I wanted a fella who could toss back Irish whiskey, I would have found him in Ireland."

"I couldn't resist," Dante grinned, his dimples appearing, "You're just so damn cute when you're...What's the word- flummoxed?"

"Fluthered. Plastered, Yank," Lulu informed him, adjusting the blanket around him and kissing him quickly on the lips.

"Stay," Dante asked, his hand reaching for hers, his thumb brushing against her wrist, "Please."

"The whiskey has messed with your head. You doona possess a full shilling."

"I don't what-"

"I doona know why I bother-"

"I'm irresistible. Charming. Funny. Sexy as hell-"

"Hm?" Lulu smiled, lying down beside him, pretending to think, "Irresistible. Charming. Funny? But, sexy?"

"Have you seen these abs?" Dante defended, pulling his shirt from his pants and tossing it on the floor, as he turned toward her, displaying his stomach.

"I doona know how we are going to make this work?" Lulu admitted, softly, her tone of voice tinged with sadness.

"I'm not that plastered," Dante grinned, moving closer, as one arm rested beside her, the other separating the golden strands of her hair.

"I doona mean-" Lulu chided, gently hitting his shoulder.

"I know what you meant, Lulu," Dante smiled, his look turning serious. He brushed his lips across hers. A tender caress.

"We'll make it work."

"How? We doona live-"

"We will. I know it," Dante assured her, resting his back against the bed and pulling her into his arms.

"I doona want to leave you," Lulu said softly, her hand resting upon his bare abdomen.

"Then don't," Dante answered, his hand brushing the tears from beneath her eyes.

"But, what if I doona have-" Lulu began, worried.

"Trust me. You do, don't you?" Dante asked, gazing over at her and pressing his lips against her forehead. He smiled, his tired eyes drifting closed, "It will all work out. Everything will look different in the morning."

Lulu snuggled closer, wrapping his arms around her and letting the warmth of his body envelope hers. Soon after, she too, fell asleep, comforted by his nearness.

Sometime later, she awoke to the rays of sunlight through the window and the vibration of her cell phone in her pocket. Gently she untangled her limbs from his and sat upon the end of the bed.

"Hello," Lulu whispered, careful not to disturb Dante.

"Miss Spencer?" the man on the other end asked.

"Yes," Lulu responded, the name sounding more and more familiar with each passing day.

"I'm Dr. Laureys. I've been overseeing your mother's treatment. I would like to go over her progress with you."

"I doona know...shouldn't you be discussing this with Lucky?"

"Miss Spencer, I think we've made a breakthrough. It's remarkable. The length of her coma. The changes these last few days-"

"What changes?" Lulu inquired, her pulse quickening.

"Memories, Miss Spencer. I believe that your mother's dreams hold the very key that will unlock everything that was set into motion so many years ago. Can you meet me at the clinic?"

"Yes. Thirty minutes?" Lulu said softly, turning in Dante's direction, "Yes. I'll see you then, Dr. Laureys."

Lulu pressed the end button on her phone, clutching it in her hand, as she reached across the bed and kissed Dante softly on the lips. He sighed, turning on his side, his slumber unaffected.

She grabbed her shoes from the floor and walked quietly toward the livingroom. Her phone vibrated once more, as she pulled her shoes on and grabbed her coat.

"Lulu," she answered, hearing the hesitation on the other line.

"Hello?" she asked, as a familiar caller responded.

"Ciara?"

"Winifred?"

"Ciara, we need to talk. I'm afraid that Daniel is in trouble. Can we meet?"

"Daniel? Winifred, I'm not in Ireland," Lulu answered, suddenly frantic. What sort of foolery could Daniel have found himself in.

"I know. I caught the first flight to New York."

Winifred was here- in the States. Something was terribly wrong for her to travel so far.

"There's a diner down by the pier. Rose's Place. Meet me there in a few hours."

"Rose's Place," Winifred repeated, jotting the name down, "I'll find it," she told her, a slow grin spreading across her face as she disconnected the call.

Everything was falling into place. Ciara, Lulu- whatever the hell she was calling herself- would be exactly where Daddy wanted her. In Ireland, near the castle's moor. Soon, Winifred thought.


End file.
